


The Sons of the Dragon

by RhaenaTargaryen28



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU-Canon divergence, Aegon and Jaehaerys do not hate each other, Brandon is Lord of Winterfell, F/M, Incest, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, M/M, Married Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegar has two Queens, Rickard kinda accepted Lyanna's marriage, Robert Lives, Robert's Rebellion never happened, Secret Marriage, The Dornish still hate Lyanna, They are two hot-heads, because of his southron ambitions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-04-12 05:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhaenaTargaryen28/pseuds/RhaenaTargaryen28
Summary: Robert's Rebellion never happened, but old conflicts are still simmering beneath a false peace.





	1. The Second Son

**The Second Son**

A sea of flames spread below the ridge they had chosen as their defense position, the walls of Pentos looming in the distance like a maze of red-brick towers and tiled roofs.

The patch of wood that had spread below the ridge had been equally devasted by the horde of Dothraki that had tried to overcome the numerous ditches and the thick shieldwall the Windblown and the Unsullied had built. There was nothing more left of the trees than small blackened stumps burned by the hundreds of arrows the Dothraki screamers had unleashed upon them during the heat of battle.

It hadn’t been Jaehaerys’ first battle, but it was the first time he had gone up against a Dothraki horde of twenty-thousand screamers.

Even now, he felt the shiver of excitement in his veins when he recalled the sound of rolling horse hooves and the whooping cries of the Dothraki screamers as they had thrown themselves into the shieldwall and sharpened pikes. They had known no fear of death and yet they had died liked the flies when the Tattered Prince had unleashed an volley of arrows after another at the approaching horde. The Dothraki used a composite bow that was deadly enough at a close range, but their bows were nothing against the longbows employed by the Tattered Prince’s archers. That most of these sellswords could look back on years of experience had only made it harder for the Dothraki to prevail, though even Jaehaerys had to admit that it would have been much harder to fight off the Dothraki without the Unsullied’s iron discipline.

Jaehaerys’ had fought himself. Armed with spear and shield he had protected the flanks, Ser Barristan Selmy and his new squire Edric Dayne always at his side. Jaehaerys had slain a good dozen of Dothraki screamers with the blade his father had gifted him upon his departure two years ago.  _My exile_ , he reminded himself of the bitter truth. Rage was better than pity, so much he had learned since coming to Essos. Nobody here gave a flying fuck about his title or blood. The sound of clinking coin and blood were the only words the people of Essos understood.

 _No more_ , he reminded himself and touched the small pendant gracing his neck. It was ruby wrought in the form of a flaming heart. A departure gift.

 _To protect you_ , she had told him and had placed a kiss on his cheek.  _And to shine a light in the darkness if you have need of it._

And while Jaehaerys had never shared his Aunts’ fondness for this strange god he had kept it anyway. The fact that Daenerys had given it to him had been enough for him to treasure it.

And it had protected him. There was no denying the truth. More than once an arrow had passed him by all too closely.

 _I will thank her when I see her again_ , he thought, his heart fluttering wildly when he thought of Daenerys. He hadn’t seen her in two years and by now she was almost a woman grown. It made him wonder if she had changed much from the silver-haired girl that stolen kisses from him in Aegon’s Garden…

 _Not now_ , he reminded himself and brushed these dark thoughts away.

Then, he sucked in a deep breath and continued to lead his horse down the devasted ridge to estimate the damage, Ser Barristan Selmy and young Edric Dayne following after him.

Even Ser Barristan was marked from the past battle, his snow-white cloak spoiled with mud and blood. Edric looked worse, his long even-shaped face littered with cuts. A Dothraki rider had used his whip to haul him from his horse, causing him to land in a hedge of thorn bushes. Young Edric Storm, had rolled with laughter when he had laid eyes on his fellow squire.

 _Neddy_ ,  _you look as if someone pressed your face into a needle cushion_ , he had japed and had earned himself a kick into the balls, which had led to only more laughter among the rest of their merry band of misfits.

There was Ser Renly Baratheon, the youngest brother of the current Lord of Storm’s End, the ever-gallant Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Gerris Drinkwater and Ser Daemon Sand, two of the finest Dornish swords, but also spies meant to keep an eye on the King’s second son.

Officially, he was allowed to call himself Prince Jaehearys Targaryen, but that meant little to the Dornish. For them he was the son of the “Northern whore” or just “the King’s bastard.”

Not that everyone thought the same. Beyond the Red Mountains no one would ever dare to call him by anything but  _your Grace_  or  _my Prince_. His Lady Mother might have only been his father’s second wife, but even now after sixteen years of marriage he was still devoted to her…

 _Dunc must be three years old_ , he recalled his little brother, who had been a mere babe in his Lady Mother’s arms when he had left for Essos. She had been so happy that she had been able to give her father another heir, but all that happiness had turned to ash when “the Princes’ brawl” had taken place.

Even now, he couldn’t help but to feel ashamed for his foolishness. He shouldn’t have allowed his hot temper to get the better of him, though Aegon had not been much better. Ever since they were children, Jaehaerys’ and Aegon’s feelings towards each had always ranged from warm to hot and so on. They had rarely fought as children, but as his mother’s sickness had worsened he had grown more and more distant from Jaehaerys and the rest of their family. Even Rhaenys, who had always been the closest with Aegon, had complained about the distance their brother had built between them.

 _He was just angry_ , she had told Jaehaerys upon his departure and had ruffled his hair as she had often done when he was a little child.  _Do forgive him._

Jaehaerys had tried, but until now he hadn’t been able to forgive his brother completely, for it had forced him to leave his home.

 _I shall return soon_ , he reminded himself and touched the ruby to reassure himself of that truth.

“Quite the destruction, your grace!” Renly Baratheon’s jolly voice roused him out of his dark thoughts. He was a tall man with dark hair and sky-blue eyes that were ever smiling. He also held a great liking for fine clothing. His golden cloak was testament to that, but was nothing compared to Ser Loras Tyrell, who had donned a cloak that looked more like a flower arrangement than something meant to ward off the chilly night winds that were so common in Pentos. “But the battle is won and the city will soon be ours. The old man better keep his word or we will never be able to go home.”

“I will make sure that he keeps his word,” Jaehaerys replied and kicked his heels into the sides of his horse, leading it over another heap of corpses. “Or he will come to regret the day he gave a false promise to a Prince of House Targaryen. Besides, without my father’s coin we would have never been able to acquire the Unsullied.”

“True, but never trust a sellsword,” Ser Barristan agreed, his silver hair fluttering around his battle-worn faces like goose feathers. He could be his grandfather, but still as quick as a squirrel. There were few swordsmen who equaled him in ability and Jaehaerys’ knew this was the reason his father had tasked him to protect his blood. His father might have exiled him, but Jaehaerys’ knew that he had only done so to appease the Dornish. He was after all not only a father, but also a King. Not that his mother had shown much understanding for his father’s actions, but Jaehaerys’ hadn’t expected anything less from his mother.  _She has the wolf’s blood_ , his father had said upon his departure and had touched his cheek.  _She won’t forgive me until you come back safely._

 _Even more reason for me to return_ , he reminded himself and swept his gaze over the river of burned bodies. Flies were swarming over them and crows were already circling above their heads, waiting for their supper, though they wouldn’t have much of it if Jaehaerys had his way.

While he held not much love for the Dothraki he couldn’t help but to admire their bravery. No knight of the Seven Kingdoms would dare to storm into a shieldwall, let alone a row of sharpened pikes. Truly, their horses must be as mad as their owners, but that was no surprise to him. He had heard that the Dothraki are closely bonded to their horses since early youth and taken them to their grave. Jaehaerys had found this custom slightly endearing, despite the Dothraki’s barbaric nature.

More and more corpses he found all the way down to the place where a small river was curling its way along trampled stripes of pasture. Lone horses were grazing along the riverbend, some of them half dead and littered with arrows.

One of these animals came his way. It was a black stead with raven hair and starry eyes, covered in the blood-red war paint of Khal Drogo, the leader of said khalasar. It must have belonged to the Khal himself or at least one of his bloodriders, but now it was trotting slowly along the river, an arrow lodged in its foot.

“A shame,” Young Edric Storm said, his prominent Florent ears even larger as he regarded the animal with a frown. “The poor animal will wither away like freshly cut flowers.”

“Spare us your poetry, Eddy!” Edric Dayne added in a jesting tone, though Jaehaerys noted the sadness in his bearing. He was a true Dayne, silver-haired and graced with deep violet eyes. “The poor animal needs a clean death, not a minstrel.”

“Aye,” Jaehaerys agreed, half smiling and half frowning, as he freed his blade and moved his own mount towards the beautiful beast.

What surprised him was that the animal didn’t move. It stood there quietly, its dark gaze defiant in the face of immanent death.

 _My time has not come_ , the animal seemed to tell him.  _I do not wish to depart for the shadowlands._

“Why are you hesitating, your Grace?” Ser Barristan’s soft voice and touch on his shoulder roused him back to the present. “Shall I?”

“No,” Jaehaerys replied curtly and climbed from his mount, his blade still in hand. Even as he stepped towards the animal, it didn’t move, its black eyes of obsidian unyielding and proud. “I first want to take a look at it. It would be a waste to kill such a fine horse.”

“As you say, your Grace,” he heard Ser Barristan’s voice, filled with doubt and obvious impatience.

 _He wants me to return to Pentos,_ he knew and made another step towards the animal. The horse reared, but the moment after Jaehaerys had lowered his blade it grew still again.

“It’s the sword, isn’t it?” he asked the animal and couldn’t help but to chuckle when horse lowed his head.

Ever carefully, he took in the wound and realized soon that it wasn’t as bad as it looked. The arrow did not go as deep as he had believed.

“The arrow didn’t go all too deep,” Jaehaerys told the other men as he patted the animal’s head. Surprisngly, it nudged his hand, as if to search for food. Sadly, Jaehaerys had nothing to offer, but had every intention to help this one back to health as best as possible. His current mount wasn’t bad, but it had belonged to another knight, who had died in a previous skirmish with the Dothraki horde. “This one is going to make it. I am sure of it. Mayhaps I can make it my new mount. What do you think, my friends?”

His companions looked torn, but Jaehaerys’ couldn’t help but to smile. He didn’t know why, perhaps it was his mother’s blood in him, but it felt as if the animal in front of him belonged to him.

“It needs a name, your grace,” Renly added jolly as ever, his voice laced with hidden mockery. There had been bad blood House Baratheon and House Targaryen ever since his father had “stolen” his mother away from Robert Baratheon and while Renly hardly ever showed any outright hostility toward him, he had still grown up in the Stormlands where the name Targaryen was not well-liked.

“Aye,” Jaehaerys replied. “And I already have one…Meraxes. This one shall be Meraxes.”

A blood glimmer spread over the walls of Pentos when they rode through the broken city gates. Onlookers watched them as they passed, carrying the banner of House Targaryen above their heads. The adults stayed away from them, but the children were more daring. A horde of them bolted after their horses, chanting strange songs in the Pentoshi language.

Jaehaerys had learned his fill of Bastard Valyrian and Ghiscari while residing in Essos, but the Pentoshi spoke a strange barbed accent that made his head hurt. Even his High Valyrian was of little use here, though he couldn’t say that he had ever been as good as a student as his sister Rhaenys.

Only Aegon had been worse, but he had always surpassed Jaehaerys with the lance.

The Tattered Prince awaited them beneath his silken pavilion and surrounded by his enemies’ cut-off heads. Jaehaerys wasn’t surprise that he had made quick work of killing these magister’ that had once driven him out of “his city”. That had happened almost thirty years ago, but even so he had prevailed and Pentos was finally his, though he had needed the help of an exiled Prince.

Jaehaerys doubted that was to his liking, though the bright smile curling on wrinkled lips betrayed not a hint of displeasure.

“Isn’t it beautiful, my Prince?” he asked Jaehaerys and pointed at one of the heads. It was the head of an ugly man with a yellow-forked beard. “Do you know who that is?”

“Who?” he asked in return and pulled the helmet from his head, his sweaty hair spilling over his shoulders. It had gotten long, but he had found no time to cut it, though there was another reason for his hesitation. He was soon going home and his beloved had always preferred his hair long like this. “Will you tell me?”

“Aye,” the Tattered Prince replied and bared his pink gums. “That’s the seacow of Pentos, also known as Illyrio Mopatis. He was the worst of them all. I still recall his smile when he had cast his vote in my favor…But who is laughing now? Me, the Tattered Prince! I have never thought I would see the day!”

“Tattered Prince will no longer be appropriate,” Jaehaerys added and brushed his sweat away. The air was humid and hot in these lands. Rhaenys and Aegon loved the dry lands around Summerhall, but Jaehaerys had always preferred the cool breeze of Dragonstone. “You are now the Prince of Pentos. Are you aware what that means?”

He had spoken the words in in an iron tone, like his father would have done, though he doubted it would impress a man like the Tattered Prince. He had been waging wars while Jaehaerys was still a quickling in his mother’s womb.

“Aye,” the Prince of Pentos confirmed and waved his hand at one of his page boys, who was  carrying a flagon of wine. “I am aware of my duties to the Dragons and to the Iron Bank. I shall purge all slavery from this city as was promised. You have my word.”

“The Sealord will not care for your perfumed word,” Jaehaerys replied and picked the cup from the boy’s hand. “Only results will please him.”

“Aye, results he will have. Mayhaps you should take the heads of the magisters with you. As a gift.”

Jaehaerys almost smiled. He didn’t fully trust that man in front of him, but his dark humor amused him and he would like to see the faces of the keyholders when he brought them a bag of rotten heads.

Viserys would roll with laughter, he knew and took a sip from his cup. It was Ghiscari wine, bitter and dry on the lips, but still better than the pisswater they had been drinking during their year-long campaign in Myr and their brief stay in Meereen. It had been both the most beautiful and the most miserable place he had ever seen. It had been beautiful for the Great Masters who ruled over the city and ugly for the slaves that toiled for these perfumed fools. It had made Jaehaerys almost ashamed to think that his forebearers hadn’t been an inkling better when it came to slavery.

“I might do that,” Jaehaerys added and received another smile. Any other man would have been stunned by such a bold answer, but not the Tattered Prince.

“Ah, I am going to miss you, my Prince. Won’t you stay a while longer?”

Jaehaerys shook his head, his heart already somewhere else, across the Narrow Sea, his home.

“Sadly not,” he sighed and drowned his cup in one quick gulp. “My Uncle Viserys is waiting for me in Braavos. Besides, I am eager to collect my payment.”

“I understand,” the Tattered Prince replied with a smile. “You shall be missed, my Prince.”

…


	2. A Generous Bargain

The Sealord’s Palace was a building of domes and spiked towers. The highest tower reached as high as the Giant of Braavos and the spire atop always glittered like beaten gold whenever the sunlight crept over the roof tops of Braavos.

The building itself was located in the midst of the Purple Harbour, a part of the city was strictly reserved for Braavosi ships, belonging to locally merchants and the holders of the Iron Bank. Even their ships hadn’t been allowed entrance, despite Aurane Water’s attempts of bribery. Eventually, they been forced to accept the Braavosi’s customs.

 After his first meeting with Tormo Fregar, Jaehaerys hadn’t been very impressed. He had expected an agile water dancer, but instead he had found a small and stocky man with a twirling mustache. Yet, after Jaehaerys and his Uncle Viserys had spent a moon in the Sealord’s Palace, he had realized that Tormo Fregar had no need of martial abilities as he was grace with a sharp mind and full pockets.

He had supposedly earned his gold with the countless taverns and brothels sprawling around the Moon Pool. That many of the whores he employed hailed from Lys didn’t seem to bother him in the least. Tormo Fregar was above all things a practical man with a knack for business. His strong stance against slavery was if anything just a result of his Braavosi upbringing and a matter of politics, though Jaehaerys had no doubt that he would ever admit that openly as it would most likely cost him his head. The Braavosi were after all very passionate when it concerned the matter of slavery. Being called a “master of any sort” was an outright insult to a Braavosi, though that didn’t mean they paid their servants generous wages. Even a common whore could earn more coin than a servant girl employed or so Palo Fregar, Tormo Fregar’s younger brother and official ambassador of Braavos, had told them while he was showing them the many attractions of Braavos, among them a visit to the Blue Latern, one of the many Mummer Houses of Braavos. He had also shown them the different temples, telling them about their history and the gods, but neither his Uncle Viserys nor his other companions had held much interest in these matters. In the end, Jaehaerys and Ser Barristan had explored the temples alone, though they had donned commoner clothing to conceal their identity.

Coming back to Braavos felt good. The salty smell of the sea, the familiar roar of the Giant and the calming sound of the water rushing through the many aqueducts lining the city helped to ease his longing for home.

One of the most famous aqueducts was the sweetwater river. It was a structure of grey stone and brick, supplying the Purple Harbour with fresh water. Braavos was littered with numerous canals, but the water was hardly drinkable without boiling it, though Tormo Fregar had japed that even the water in Ragman’s Port was cleaner than the water of King’s Landing. And while that was certainly true, Jaehaerys had mentioned his father’s attempts to improve the situation. And while King’s Landing was still dirty and  infested with the smell of fish, the new sewer system had helped to ease the smell of shit.

“Looks like we are being expected, your Grace,” Ser Barristan remarked as they entered the large courtyard that built the center of the Sealord’s palace. It was a large spacious place with numerous statues meant to memorize the previous Sealords of Braavos. Jaehaerys had never counted them, but they were as different as the many exotic birds in the Sealord’s menagerie. Some were squat and some were thin as a rot, some were tall and some were short, some were clean-shaved and others sported twirling mustaches that defied all kinds of logic. Some, the more martial ones, wore swords while others held  feathers, scales ore parchments.

 “It seems so,” Jaehaerys answered and fumbled with the clasp of his cloak, before forcing a smile upon his lips. He had never held much love for court finery, but he was here to trade on behalf of House Targaryen. Viserys would think ill of him if he made all his efforts for naught by entering the Sealords’ palace with inappropriate clothing. Still, the silken collar of his tunic was uncomfortable and made him want to burn the garment at the spot. His crimson cloak was even worse, the garment always failed to remain in place, despite the ruby pin holding it together.

 “Welcome, friends!” Palo Fregar greeted them with a vigorous smile, so common to the Braavosi, though the meaning of such a smile could be twofold. Either it was a gesture of happiness or a gesture of threat. Yet Jaehaerys knew Palo well enough to see the differences. The fact that he was baring his pearl white teeth was a good sign and so was the fact that he had donned his finest clothing, a coat of gold and high silver-buckled boots. “I have sorely missed your presence, my Prince.”

 He spread his hands wide as he approached and pressed a kiss to Jaehaerys’ cheeks. It was something he had gotten used to by now, though it took him much effort not to wrinkle his nose at the man’s strong perfume.

“I hope you do not mind Ser Barristan’s presence. The Sealord never ventures far without the First Sword of Braavos. The same goes for a Prince of House Targaryen.”

 Palo continued to smile and even lowered his head as he regarded Ser Barristan Selmy. The Braavosi prided themselves on their water dancing and the heavy-armored knights of the Seven Kingdoms amused the Braavosi _._

_A true swordsman has no need for heavy armor_ , Palo had bragged during their first visit, but had seen his folly after Ser Barristan had shed his armor and had given the First Sword of Braavos a run for his coin. Ever since that day, the Palo had developed some sort of grudging respect for the old knight.

“Ser Barristan is always welcome,” he said and waved his hand at the entourage of servants that was always following him wherever he went. Among them were richly three servant girls, two page boys garbed in golden doublets and his favorite manservant, a short straw-headed dwarf commonly known as Tytos the Cunning or the Fool. Jaehaerys didn’t like him, for he was always prying and hiding his lusty character behind false smiles. He was Palo’s fool, but also his spy. “Please come along, friends. My illustrious brother and your Uncle are awaiting you with a splendid meal and beautiful company.

 With beautiful company he meant the beautiful courtesans serving the Sealord, another attraction Braavos was known for in Essos. Viserys called them “better whores” and had nearly earned himself a knife to the heart for making such an insult in the Sealords’ court.

It had been the first lesson they had learned: Never insult the Sealord’s girls.

  _While in Braavos do as the Braavosi do_ , Palo had advised them on their first night in Braavos. They had been in haste to meet the Sealord, but only a moon later had they finally been allowed into his solar. It was only later, that they had found out that this had been the Braavosi way of putting the “Dragon Prince” into his place. Viserys had raged over the Sealord’s actions, but as so often his Uncle had forgotten about his displeasure once he had beheld the beauty of the so-called “better whores”. Viserys was in general a stern man, but held a weakness for beautiful women.

The familiar smell of perfume filled his nose as they stepped into the Sealord’s solar, a height-ceiled room with gilded wall decorations of fearsome sea creatures. Among them were sea dragons, krakens and exotic birds that could also be found in the Sealord’s extensive menagerie.

The room was dominated by a large staircase leading up to a gilded throne covered with red cushions, though it not there where the Sealord and his Uncle awaited him. Instead they very seated on numerous cushions and beneath a red canopy.

Around them fluttered two pretty girls. One was tall and slender, her hair as red as the lavish gown she wore. The other one was shorter, pale-haired and had a pair of large blue eyes of summer. The second clearly hailed from Lys. Many girls from Lys had silver hair, a courtesy of the dragonlords of old who had used Lys as their “pleasure garden”.

“Ah, the Son of the Dragon is back,” Tormo Fregar greeted in his usual jesting manner. The fact that he always spoke in the most flowery kind of High Valyrian irked him, but he had long learned to ignore his egocentric manners. “I recall a boy, but now I see a man!”

Then, he jerked his head at Viserys who had observed Tormo’s antics with the usual annoyance.

Unlike Jaehaerys, his Uncle was graced with the silver hair and the lilac eyes of a trueborn Targaryen, something he was very proud of.

 Still, he and Jaehaerys had always shared a good relationship, as he had spent the first six years of his life at Dragonstone. As his mother’s marriage to his father had caused much turmoil at court and had woken the anger of the Dornish, his father had kept his mother at Dragonstone, though later, after Queen Elia’s health had forced her to retreat to Summerhall, his father had finally called his mother to court. Aegon and Rhaenys had often visited him at Dragonstone, but to be among his siblings had been something that Jaehaerys had craved for a long time, though his mood had soon be dimmed by the glowering looks of the courtiers. He had always known that the Dornish disliked him, but until then he had never been confronted with the hard truth. They not only disliked him, but regarded him as a threat to his brother’s claim. His mother had always been a delicate point between him and Aegon, though Queen Elia had never shown him any outright hostility. On the contrary, she had been more than civil to him whenever they interacted and even encouraged Aegon to foster a good relationship with his half-brother.

In their youth, Aegon and Jaehaerys had always stuck together as they had shared many interests. Both liked swordplay and hunting and both of them disliked studying High Valyrian, though all of that had changed three years ago. Shortly, after his wedding to Myrcella Baratheon, Aegon had started to change and to distance himself not only from Jaehaerys, but also from his sister Rhaenys and his mother. All of this pent-up frustration, had eventually resulted in the “Princes’ brawl”, though even now Jaehaerys couldn’t say what had been the original cause of their fight. It had started as a simple argument and had ended in a fight.

Had they been two common boys nobody would have bat an eye about their fight, but they were princes and Aegon the heir to the throne.

Thus, his father had been forced to “punish” him with two years of exile, but his father had always been a practical man and had also sent Viserys to accompany him on his travel to foster a good relationship with the Free Cities.

He and Viserys had spent their first year travelling from city to city, their last stop being Braavos. There, they had made curious findings about a mystery that had plague his family since King Jaehaerys’ reign, namely the disappearance of Dreamfyre’s dragon eggs by the hands of Elissa Farman. Nobody had known what had happened to these eggs, but an off-handed comment by Tormo Fregar had woken Jaehaerys’ curiosity and thus he had buried himself in the stacks of records that could be found in the Sealords’ archives. To his astonishment, he had found out that the eggs had been sold to a magister in Qarth. Tormo, who probably hoped to indulge this green prince from Westeros, had generously offered to investigate about the dragon eggs’ whereabouts and had indeed managed to find them. Of course, there had been a price to be paid for these efforts undertaken by the Sealord, among them the promise of marriage between his Uncle Viserys and Tormo Fregar’s cousin Marcella Fregar and the retaking of Pentos.

The first task had been easy enough, though Viserys had first scoffed at the idea of wedding a non-Valyrian bride. Well, after he had laid eyes on the Marcella Fregar he had quickly changed his mind, for the girl was a great beauty, her hair made of spun gold and her eyes green like two striking emeralds. Her generous bosom and charming nature must have helped too, tough Jaehaerys knew that his father might not approve of their actions, given that he had probably hoped to wed Viserys to someone else.

_The eggs will be worth it_ , he reminded himself as he returned to Sealord’s easy smile.

“I am also pleased to be back,” Jaehaerys replied and was promptly offered a cushioned chair and a cup of wine, brought to him by the golden-haired girl from Lys. She wore a thin robe of pink silk, her nipples hard beneath her robes. “And I bring good news. Pentos is ours. The Tattered Prince sends you the heads of his enemies as a token of loyalty.”

Tormo frowned at that and twirled his black mustache. It was a sign of displeasure. The current Sealord was a ruthless man, but he disliked the sight of blood.

“He may keep them,” Tormo replied, a smile returning to his lips as he leaned forward. “All I demanded was the purging of this ungodly practice called slavery. It will please my keyholders to hear of your victory, my Prince.”

“That is good to hear,” Jaehaerys replied and took a sip from his wine. It was Braavosi wine, fruity and sweet, and much more to his taste than the Ghiscari brew. “What about my price?”

A moment of silence followed as the Sealord continued to sip from his cup. It was intentional, Jaehaerys was sure. He always liked to make him squirm.

Ignoring his antics, Jaehaerys played along and ate from the cheese and the grapes offered to him by the pale-haired girl. He half-expected her to jump into his lap and was glad when she didn’t. He wasn’t in the mood for such mummeries, especially when his nerves were strained with anticipation.

“The wine is good,” Viserys added at last, breaking the silence. He had never been one for patience.

Jaehaerys sighed and the Sealord grinned triumphantly.

“Indeed,” Tormo agreed and rubbed his hands together. Then, he laughed and called one of his page boys to his side. This one was exceptional beautiful, his face finely shaped and his hair dark like ebony. Tormo liked to surround himself with beauties, but in truth, he preferred the company of his page boys. “And you shall have three gallons from my cellar.”

 “A generous gift,” Jaehaerys agreed with a smile. He didn’t care about wine, but It would be a grave insult to spurn such an offer. “What about my other price?”

“Of course!” Tormo replied, his voice filled with sudden excitement. A bell rang and then his cousin Marcella entered the solar. She was dressed in a white tunic, her pale hair delicately braided around the crown of her head and accentuated with flowers. She smiled at Viserys as she passed and made space for the servant girls that were carrying a gilded box decorated with a laughing face, the sigil of the Sealord of Braavos.

Jaehaerys held his breath as the Lady Marcella opened the box with a golden key, revealing the price he and his Uncle had been toiling for in the last two years.

He blinked once, twice and a third time to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming and that what he was seeing was true and not merely an illusion.

“Don’t be shy, my Prince,” Tormo encouraged him with a wide grin. “They are beautiful to behold, but sadly nothing but dead stones.”

Jaehaerys nodded his head as his trembling hand brushed over the three perfect dragon eggs.

One was as black as the midnight sea and covered with scarlet ripples and swirls. The second one was deep green and burnished with bronze flecks. The third one was pale like milk glass and streaked with gold.

 Yet, to Jaehaerys’ utter astonishment they felt hot and alive. It felt like putting one’s hand into a sizzling brazier.

“Feel,” he urged Viserys in a whispery voice. “Feel.”

Viserys complied and touched he cream-colored egg, but it seemed as if it didn’t feel the same to him.

Swallowing hard, he decided to change the topic.

“The surface is so smooth,” Jaehaerys replied instead and earned himself a curious look from his Uncle.

“They are beautiful,” Viserys agreed, but his lilac eyes were lingering on Fregar’s lascivious cousin and not the eggs.

Had she been ugly, Viserys would have most likely refused the match.

Stone eggs were dead eggs, so much was true, but Jaehaerys was sure that his mind wasn’t playing a trick on him.

These eggs were not dead. They were as alive as him.

Perhaps there was a way to wake them from their slumber.

 …


	3. Visions of Fire

Rhae winced as Lady Melisandre brought the blade close to her hand and cut into the skin. The touch of the Valyrian steel reminded her of the sting of a needle, but it was not the pain she feared, but the sight of the blood that always made her feel sick.

It was a silly fear that stemmed from the nightmares she had had as a child. More than a hundred times she had dreamed of her brother’s, brother’s and her own death.

Her memories were blurry but she recalled how massive man had smashed his brother’s head against a wall. Frightened, Rhae had fled to her mother’s chamber where one of these men had eventually found her. She couldn’t describe the man’s face, but recalled his voice, thin and high like his father’s harp. He had even whispered kind words to her before he had slashed a dagger over her throat.

And while such nightmares were not uncommon for children, it had been the recurrence of the dream that had frightened her so much. Well, eventually the nightmares had stopped, but her intolerance to blood remained.

Yet there was no other choice. She knew it was worth it.

Gritting her teeth against the sting of the blade, she averted her gaze when the smell of blood filled her nose.

“Only a little more, Princess,” Lady Melisandre’s voice rang in her ears as she continued to squeeze Rhae’s hand tighter, drawing more and more blood from her. Lady Melisandre called blood “the source of all magic” or “a tool of one true god” and while Rhae’ was still skeptical of Lady Melisandre’s faith it truly felt as if part of her life force had left her through the blood.

“Well done,” the Lady praised her and cleaned the cut with a cool cloth before covering it with wool bindings. “That should be enough.”

Rhae exhaled in relief and shifted her attention to Lady Melisandre, who carried the jade cup in which she had collected Rhae’s blood on the oak table covered with herbs and hundreds of bottles.

Rhae had studied books about herbs, but many of these dried plants were unknown to her, which was no surprise. Lady Melisandre had brought them with her from Essos.

“Thank you, my Lady,” Rhae replied and touched her cut hand. The wool bindings were wet with blood, but it could be worse. “It hurt less than last time. How long until you will need fresh blood?”

“I took more blood than usual. It should serve for a few moons,” the Lady replied with a smile and started to crush the herbs with a pestle until they were nothing more than a heap of dust.  Finished with this task she gathered the dust in an iron pot and held it over the brazier. As she was stirring the fire she put two or three drops of blood into the pot. “By then your babe will born.”

Rhae didn’t wince when the room was filled with a cracking sound.

“Are you sure that it will be enough?” Rhae asked again. Her Lady Mother’s health had improved so much that she had been able to travel to Dorne, but she didn’t want to tempt fate.

“It should be enough,” Lady Melisandre assured her after she had filled the liquid in a bottle. “If not then your husband’s blood could serve as well.”

“No,” Rhaenys protested without hesitation. Aegon would not like what she was doing. “We should leave Aegon out of this, my Lady.”

“As you wish,” Lady Melisandre replied, a crimson smile curling on her lips.  It was a beautiful and mysterious smile.

Yet the Lady’s looks were enough to make everyone’s head turn. She was tall and everything about her was red. Her hair was red, her silken robes were red and even her eyes were red. Kiss by Fire, as Aegon liked to jest.

The Lady’s skin was just as beautiful; pale like milk or the finest marble.

For some time, Rhae had feared she might make advances at Aegon, but the Lady had kept her distance.

Yet Rhae couldn’t bring herself to fully trust her. One year ago and barely a moon after her grandmother’s death, Lady Melisandre had suddenly arrived at Dragonstone.

Many had court had been shocked when her Aunt had insisted on hosting the Red Priestess from Asshai.  Even the old Septon’s refusal had fallen on deaf ears.

Mindful of his sister’s grief, her Lord Father King Rhaegar had allowed Dany her indulgence and thus Lady Melisandre had remained a constant presence at Dragonstone.

At first, Rhae had been fazed by Dany’s interest in the Red Priestess, but that had changed after her Lady Mother’s health had started to fail and the Lady Melisandre had started to prepare potions for her Lady Mother.

Even the old Maester had been amazed, though only Rhae, Dany, Aegon and her Lady Mother knew about this.

Thinking of Dany made her said, because they hadn’t spoken in moons.

The revelation of Rhae’s pregnancy had not only caused her father the King political problems  with the Tullys, but had also led to a disturbance in her relationship with Dany.

She had been selfish. She hadn’t been able to wed another man when she was finally carrying Aegon’s son and potential heir or at least that is what Lady Melisandre believed.

Yet that was also wrong. She and Aegon had always been close.

Aegon had been her first kiss. Aegon had taken her maidenhead and thus she had always expected that they would one day be wed, yet everything came differently.

When Aegon turned ten and three talks about a betrothal to Lady Melisandre had been announced and soon after the same had happened for Rhae in regard to a possible betrothal to Edmure Tully.

Politically, she understood her father’s reasoning. Myrcella Baratheon offered connections to House Lannister and House Baratheon and on top of that dragonblood, albeit not as much as Rhae and her Aunt. Truly, many had expected that Aegon would wed their Aunt and the King might have very well considered such a match, but the sudden passing of Queen Rhaella must have convinced him otherwise to pressure Dany into such a match.

Dany was certainly fond of Aegon, but more like a brother than a lover. That Rhae held affections for Aegon and that Dany called Myrcella Baratheon her friend must have also played a role.

Yet Rhae believed it was more likely that it had to do with her grandmother’s fragile state of mind after her husband’s murder at the hands of Ser Jaime Lannister. Sure, she had been a gentle woman, but at times she had the tendency to speak to invisible people and at other times she had suffered from bouts of rage that had usually ended with her locking herself up in their room for days. At the end of her days, her grandmother had been utterly confused and had slowly starved herself to death as she had haunted the halls of Dragonstone.

 _She feels guilty_ , her Lady Mother had told Rhae once, but had refused to say more. Back then, Rhae had still believed that her grandfather King Aerys had choked on a cup of wine, but that had been lie made up to conceal the truth, namely that her grandmother Rhaella had supposedly convinced Ser Jaime to butcher her kingly husband in his sleep.

Rhae had few memories of her grandfather, but none of them were good. He had been a scary man, but that her gentle-hearted grandmother had murdered him in cold blood was hard for her to believe.

Not that it mattered. To the world, King Aerys had found a miraculous death which had not only saved Lord Brandon Stark’s life, but had also freed Westeros from the grasp of a mad man.

Truly, Rhaenys should have known better than to step into her father’s footsteps, but back then she had thought that her Lord Father could simply offer her younger sister Alysanne as a substitute to Edmure Tully, but in the end the coin had fallen on Dany as her Lord Father had already promised Alysanne to Elbert Arryn’s only son Denys Arryn, a match her Lord Father couldn’t have easily broken without angering the future Lord of the Vale.

Thus, as far as she knew, Dany had reluctantly agreed to the match. Rhae believed she had done it out of loyalty for her brother the King or mayhaps because she was simply growing tired of the constant marriage proposals.

Her Aunt was after all nearing ten and six and at this age Rhaenys had had three different suitors for her hand while Dany had always kept everyone at a distance.

Rhaenys knew why she had done this, but it had always been a folly of her to think that she would be allowed to wed her brother Jaehaerys. Had her younger brother been born from her mother’s womb nobody would have cared, but by wedding a trueborn Princess of House Targaryen and daughter to a former King, Jaehaerys would in essence lose his status of a legitimized bastard and that was something her mother’s kin and Myrcella’s kin would dislike.

Her father must know this as well, but he was always the kind of person who liked to avoid pleasant topics.

“Princess,” Lady Melisandre’s voice and touched called her back to the present. “I think it is time to look into the flames.”

Rhae felt ashamed for her mindlessness and smiled at the Lady, joining her near the crackling hearth.

Summerhall was a castle of spacious gardens and spiraling towers. It was the perfect summer residence, but now that autumn had arrived the nights could get quite chilly.

Yet the weather was far more pleasant than in King’s Landing. The days were full of sunshine, but the air was not as stifling as in the capital. It was the best place for her Lady Mother.

“Drink this,” Lady Melisandre offered her the blue vial. “To open your mind.”

Rhaenys nodded her head and brought the golden cup to her lips, drowning the liquid in one big gulp.

The shade of the evening tasted always differently. Sometimes, it tasted like her favorite cherries and at other times it tasted of Aegon’s kisses. It also made her lips turn blue.

The first time, Rhae had been hesitant to watch the flames, but now it gave her comfort, especially in regard to her babe.

She had carried another babe before, but she had lost it in a bed of blood, though only Dany knew about it. She had never told Aegon about it and what the Maester had told her after examining her, namely that she would never bear another child again. That had been part of the reason she had accepted the betrothal to Edmure Tully, but when she had miraculously conceived she had been forced to tell Aegon the truth.

As always, she leaned closer towards the curling flames. Sometimes, they showed people or lands she knew. At other times, she saw glimpses of events that had happened in the past and if she was lucky she got a glimpse into events that lay in the future.

Yet something was different today. The flames glowed much brighter and the visions were much clearer.

She felt the heat, her head pounding violently as the forms took shape before her eyes. First, she saw her brother Jaehaerys facing a horde of mounted warriors which promptly changed into three dragons, their flames devouring the marble halls of Summerhall.

She exhaled deeply, reaching deeper as Lady Melisandre had shown her.

Deeper and deeper she immersed herself in the flames and saw what she had longed to see.

The lusty cry of a babe filled her ears, promising the birth of a healthy prince, the heir Aegon deserved.

The babe had a crop of silver hair and dark eyes like Rhae, his face deeply flushed from the crying.

Yet the beautiful vision faded away when Lady Melisandre’s touch called her back to the present.

Waking from her visions, she found herself kneeling on the ground and held upright by Lady Melisandre.

“I am well,” she assured the Lady and pulled herself back to her feet. It wasn’t the first time that this had happened, but Lady Melisandre took always good care that didn’t get hurt. “And I saw my babe…my son. He was healthy, my Lady.”

“Of course,” Lady Melisandre confirmed. “I saw him as well. What else did you see?”

“I saw my brother Jaehearys,” she replied and tried her best to recall her visions. “I saw him fighting…and three dragons…,” she trailed off and shuddered.

“Three dragons,” Lady Melisandre whispered, her voice laced with excitement. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Rhae confirmed and rose back to her feet, which was harder than expected with her swelling stomach.  “They destroyed Summerhall. Do you think it is a bad omen, my Lady?”

“Visions are not always literal,” Lady Melisandre explained and led her back to the canopy that faced the balcony. The doors were closed, but the windows were open, allowing the pleasant breeze entrance into Rhae’s solar. “It could be symbolic.”

“Mayhaps you are right,” Rhae replied and picked the cup of water from Lady Melisandre’s hands. She drank deeply and pondered her visions once more.

Her brother’s exile was not over, but there must be a reason she saw him. Most of her visions showed her things that had to do  with the future or at least the present…

“The Prince has returned,” Lady Melisandre informed her and caused her to lift her head.

Rhae’s smiled in surprise when she noticed Aegon’s presence. He and Myrcella had travelled to Felwood as Lord Fell had invited her brother to partake in a hunt.

Myrcella followed close behind him, her daughter Visenya clutching to her hand. Garbed in a golden brocade dress and her dark hair kept in a tight braid she looked prim and proper as always, but Rhaenys knew better than that. Myrcella had a mischievous side to her, but she rarely showed it outside the halls of Summerhall or Dragonstone…

“Rhae!” Visenya exclaimed and bolted towards Rhae. “I saw pretty birds!”

Rhaenys pulled the girl in a tight embrace and ruffled the girl’s dark curls. “That sounds very exciting. I wish I could have gone with you.”

“Rhae will accompany us next time…once the babe is born,” Aegon added kindly and picked up Visenya. She was only two, but ever restless. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better,” Rhae lied. “And you, Egg? Did you enjoy your hunt?”

“Lord Fell would have liked to keep us there forever,” Myrcella added and took a seat on the cushioned canopy next to Rhaenys, her gaze darting to Lady Melisandre who had left through smaller door on the other side of the room.

“You don’t seem to like Lord Fell,” Rhae pointed out and made space for Visenya. “Is he an unpleasant man? I only knew his late father…”

“He is a hypocrite,” Myrcella and smoothed her hands over Visenya’s dark locks. “He is always licking my boots, but behind my back he is speaking ill about my Lady Mother. I am pleased that Prince Jaehaery’s sudden return gave us reason to leave.”

Rhae was stunned.

“My brother Jaehaerys? How so?”

“He is coming home,” Aegon informed her. “At least that is what father’s raven says…”

“This will lead to problems,” Rhae replied with growing worry. “Surely, he must know that?”

“I am sure he knows that,” Aegon added and shifted his attention to Myrcella and his daughter, who was eying the colorful rug on the floor. “Cella, I think is best if you get Visenya settled. She looks hungry.”

Myrcella frowned, knowing very well that was Aegon’s way of telling her that he wanted privacy.

Myrcella and Rhaenys had always gotten along well, but since Aegon had chosen Rhae as his second wife she had grown distant.

 “We have just returned,” Myrcella countered in displeasure and pulled Visenya into her lap. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, it can’t,” Aegon replied firmly. He was usually a pleasant person, but didn’t like it when people contradicted him. “Rhaenys needs to rest if we are to depart to King’s Landing on the morrow.

“Very well,” Myrcella agreed and sighed deeply, pushing Visenya towards her father. “You heard your father. Say goodnight.”

Aegon’s expression changed immediately. He pulled the little girl into his arms and placed a dozen of kisses on her cheek before handing her back to her mother, who left soon after.

Once she was gone, Rhaenys didn’t hesitate to make help him pull off his boots, shirt and sword belt.

Rhaenys herself was garbed in a light summer dress, her long dark hair open like she liked it best.

She felt the urge to take him right there, but she knew that Aegon would refuse. The Maester had told them that any form of coupling could endanger the child.

Thus, she simply parted his lips and kissed him deeply, before gracing him with a warm smile.

She had felt alone, especially after her mother had left to visit her family in Dorne.

“So what is this about our brother?”

“Mayhaps he heard of Dany’s betrothal,” Aegon offered as a possible explanation, his voice laced with worry.

 “Mayhaps,” Rhaenys replied with growing anxiety. “I hope he keeps a cool head.”

Aegon squeezed her hand and kissed her brow. He was growing distant again and rose to his feet, his gaze darting to the palm trees lining the stone path curling its way through the garden.

“Whatever his reasons,” Aegon sighed and sucked in a deep breath. “I hope they are good.”

…


	4. Homecoming

The Red Keep was abuzz with rumors about her nephew’s return. Almost two years ago, he had been exiled to Essos and he had decided to come home earlier than expected.

 _He must have missed home_ , she thought and smiled, her heart skipping a beat as she continued to watch Queen Lyanna shoo around her two handmaids.

Since her son’s exile she had stayed at Dragonstone and had only occasionally visited King’s Landing to attend to her duties.

A moon ago, while Dany had returned to Dragonstone, they had received an emissary sent by the Sealord of Braavos himself, who had promptly informed them about her nephew’s sudden return.  Thus, unlike her brother the King and the rest of the court, neither her nor Queen Lyanna were surprised when the Stormchaser had been sighted near Stormbreaker’s Bay.

The Stormchaser was a beautiful galley, Lord Monford’s pride and joy. The prow was a three-headed dragon and its surface was painted black as the night. She recalled it well, because she and her Lady Mother had often travelled back on forth between King’s Landing.  She had been relieved to see that her brother the King had gifted her nephew this ship the travel to the Free Cities and had sent Ser Aurane Waters to be his guide. The bastard of Driftmark was an arrogant twat, but nobody could deny his knowledge about the sea.

“This dress? Or the other one?” she heard Queen Lyanna’s anxious voice, snapping Dany out of her thoughts. “What do you think?”

Dany lifted her head and found the Queen dressed in a dream of blue silk and adorned with grey trimmings. It suited her long pale face and brown hair which she liked to wear in delicate knots common among northern women.

Dany herself liked to braid her hair, but she rarely had the patience to sit through a full hour of beautification. Thus, she kept her hair in an easy braid and had instead chosen one of her finer summer dressed she had acquired before her departure to Dorne. It was made of smooth, lilac silk and embellished with small pearls.

It had been a fine departure gift she had received from her niece Rhaenys, but it hadn’t been enough to ease her displeasure about her nephew’s exile or the fact that her brother and King had sent her to Dorne in hopes she might take a liking to Prince Quentyn Martell.

 Not only had he been as boring as a teaspoon, he had only been a second son. Dany had been raised as a Princess, the blood of Aegon the Conqueror. She had expected to marry a Lord Paramount or a heir to a great house, but not the Frog Prince of Dorne. That it had been another result of the “Princes’ brawl” had angered her even more.

 _Fool_ , she had chided her nephew and had taken him to bed in the same night. While he had always liked his temper during their lovemaking, she couldn’t help but wish now that he was more like her brother Rhaegar, who was always calm and composed. _Beloved fool._

True to his character, her nephew had wanted to whisk her away, but she had refused, because of her mother’s sickness.

In the end,  her nephew and her brother Viserys had hatched a plan. The night before her nephew’s departure to Essos, Viserys had employed the service of a Septon who had wed her and her nephew in Aegon’s Garden with Viserys and young Edric Dayne being their only witnesses.

The same night they had consummated the marriage, though they had done so before numerous times. Dany had been distraught that she had been forced to take moon tea, but it had been the only way.

The next moons she had remained with her ailing mother, taking care of her until she had passed away. The moons that followed felt like a blur to her, but eventually her brother Rhaegar had sent her to Dorne.

She had tried her best to play along and had tried to bridge the time until her nephew’s return, though everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

Dany had had a bit too much to drink and had embarrassed herself in the most humiliating manner possible, namely by vomiting on Prince Quentyn’s beautifully-sewn doublet.

In hindsight it had been a good thing, as Prince Quentyn hadn’t even been able to look at her since that day, let alone court her.

Thus, she had spent with other and far more wholesome activities. In her first moons in Dorne, she had hardly spent time inside, but had raced her horse all around Sunspear with Princess Arianne and her bastard cousins being Dany’s constant companions. Like her, they loved hawking and hunting. They had even shown her how to sue a spear and a whip, but that had only temporarily eased her sadness, though in time she had realized that she needed to make friends to bridge the time ahead of her.

And she had done so to her best abilities. She had acquainted herself with Arianne’s friends, had changed her wardrobe and had even taken up to burn her tongue with Dornish dishes that never failed to make her stomach roll.

During this time, she had also made the acquaintance of Lord Yronwood’s daughter, the girl Quentyn Martell was sweet on. She took the time foster a friendship with the girl, though the girl was often a little fearful in her presence. Eventually, she had pulled the girl aside and had told her that she was free to purse Prince Quentyn.

The girl had nearly  collapsed, but not long after the expected betrothal followed and Dany was finally allowed to go home.

Dany had been relieved, but in hindsight she had felt ashamed of making up such a horrible nickname for him, but by now she had come to see that he was a good man.

The same could be said about Lord Edmure Tully, her current betrothed. It was a political arrangement that came about, because her niece Rhaenys had spurned her betrothal to him in favor of her nephew Aegon.

Not that Dany blamed her. Her brother Rhaegar should have simply had them wed and none of this would have happened, but then she also understood why her brother had chosen Lady Myrcella Baratheon as Aegon’s wife.

“Daenerys, sweetling,” Queen Lyanna’s voice snapped her back to the present. “Did you hear what I said?”

Dany nodded her head and graced her with an apologetic smile.

“I did and I mustn’t forget my brother’s crown…to make peace with my brother now that Jaehaerys is returning, ” she confirmed and pointed at the silver circlet embellished with blue gemstones wrought in the form of winter roses. It had been her brother’s gift for his Second Queen in memory of the birth of their second child, Princess Alysanne. Six years ago,  and after several troublesome miscarriages Queen Lyanna had borne her brother another Prince named Duncan. Both had been ushered away by the servants to be dressed appropriately.

Her good-sister frowned at first, then smiled sweetly.

“We already did that a year ago,” she admitted half-heartedly as placed the circlet atop her head. It looked like something a Princess would wear, but Dany doubted her good-sister cared about such things. She had never cared about being Queen and had always left most of these duties to her brother’s first wife, but due to her declining health Queen Elia had been forced to retire to Summerhall and thus her good-sister had taken up more and more of her duties.

Dany sighed, realizing how much she must have missed her brother’s presence.

“Well, that is good to hear,” she replied and flashed her good-sister a warm smile. “My brother was quite miserable without you.”

“He deserved it,” her good-sister replied then and pushed the door open. “But if there is one thing I have learned then it is this: We are all fools.

Dany could only agree, though some men and women were greater fools than others. 

A gentle blue sky greeted them as they stepped outside to greet the column of riders, Lyanna leading the way. Her two children walked beside her while Dany followed after them, not knowing whether she should hide away or step forward. By now her nephew must have heard about her betrothal and she feared his reaction.

Not that it mattered. She doubted her nephew and husband would return unless he had a plan to move forward.

 _We could go north_ , she mused. Granted, Queen Lyanna’s brother held little love for King Rhaegar, but then he might even find it amusing that his nephew had fooled the King.  _Lord Rickard Stark had died recently. It would only be appropriate for his grandson to visit his grandfather’s grave._

 _“Dany,” a soft voice  called her back to the present as someone pulled on the hem of her dress._ It was her niece Alysanne, a long-faced girl of ten and two and graced with the Targaryen coloring, though her hair was slightly darker than Rhaegar’s and Dany’s silver hair. “Why are you hiding?”

 Dany felt suddenly very silly as young Prince Duncan was staring at her with wide eyes grey eyes, his mob of unruly brown hair sticking up in all directions.

Like his mother, he was graced with the Stark coloring, but the slope of his nose and his smile belonged to Rhaegar.

It made Dany wish for a boy like that, though the coloring wouldn’t matter to her.

“I am not hiding,” she replied and stepped forward, coming to stand beside Alysanne, who at the age of ten and two, nearly stood as tall as Dany.

“Don’t fret,” Alysanne assured her and took her hand. “My brother hasn’t forgotten you.”

Dany’s cheeks burned and felt the urge to correct her niece, but kept her mouth shut.

She brushed these thoughts from her mind when the thunder of horse hooves filled her ears and she saw a black and red banner flying atop the heads of the riders, many of whom she knew.

There was the ever smiling, Ser Renly Baratheon, his squire Edric Storm. After him followed Ser Barristan Selmy and his squire Edric Dayne, Ser Loras Tyrell and of course Ser Daemon Sand and Ser Gerris Drinkwater.

At last came, came her brother Viserys and her beloved nephew.

Viserys carried a tight smile, as always when he was forced to travel on a mount, but his lilac eyes lightened a little when he laid eyes on her. He barely made it out of the saddle, before helping the young woman, that had ridden behind him, to climb from her own mount.

Dany couldn’t help but so sigh. Her brother was well beyond his twentieth nameday and yet he was still wasting his time with courtesans. It seemed this time he had found a sun-kissed beauty with golden hair and blue eyes, though her fine clothing meant that she was at least belonged to a wealthier stock of society. 

 _I will have a word with him_ , she promised and took in her nephew’s changed appearance.

Two years had come and gone, and he had gone from a boy to a man.

Her beloved nephew had grown at least half a head since she had last laid eyes on him, but his face was till the same. Long, solemn, as if chipped from ice. His plain brown hair was also much longer, but  his eyes, her brother’s and her mother’s eyes, eyes that never failed to make her smile, though contrary to the past there was a strange husband to them now, something that hadn’t been there in the past. 

“My boy!” her good-sister exclaimed happily and opened her arms wide, before she pulled her oldest into her arms. He smiled, then frowned, as he had always done when he was a little pup.

When her good-sister was done hugging her son, she mustered him from head to toe, her hand smoothing his hair as if he was a little boy instead of a man grown.

“Mother,” Jaehaerys complained and pouted, his cheeks turned pink by his mother’s overflowing affection. “My hair is fine.”

“You look like a girl,” her good-sister remarked with a loop-sided smile and pulled her unwilling son into another hug, though this time a hesitant smile crossed over his lips.

Her nephew had never been the most cheerful child, but it seemed the last years hadn’t helped to lighten his mood.

Thinking like that woke her long-buried anger, that only disappeared when her nephew’s eyes sought hers. They looked like she recalled them, dark like Valyrian steel. The sight filled her with warmth, stirring the fires inside her belly and further below.

Dany was about to open her mouth, when Princess Alysanne interrupted them.

“Did you bring me a sword, brother?”

A smile curled on his lips and he leaned down to ruffle his little sister’s hair, which in turn tore a soft giggle from her lips.

“I did bring you a sword,” he explained. “The Sealord of Braavos gifted it to me. I told him that I know someone who has need of a pretty sword.”

 Alysanne giggled and lifted herself unto her toes to give her brother a sloppy kiss.

“I have no need of a pretty sword. I want a sharp one.”

“It can be both,” Dany added hesitatingly. “A sword can be pretty and sharp.”

Finally, her nephew, no her husband, returned her smile. It was like sunshine splitting through dark clouds.

“True,” he agreed and took a glimpse at the little boy hiding behind Lyanna’s skirt. Dunc was no shy child, but it didn’t surprise her that he didn’t recognize his brother, who was practically a stranger to him.

A soft smile crossed Lyanna’s lips as she leaned forward to touch the little boy’s shoulder.

“Look, that is your brother,” she explained and pointed at Jaehaerys. “The one I told you about.”

Dunc’s eyes widened in surprise and he smiled shyly, still clutching to his mother’s skirt. “Hello.”

Her nephew Jaehaerys chuckled. It sounded so strange coming from his lips.

“Well met, brother,” he returned the greeting and knelt down, offering his hand to the little boy. “Won’t you come and greet me?”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be so shy!” Lyanna prodded amusedly and gave Dunc a little shove, causing him to stumble forward, but Jaehaerys caught him before kissed the dirty ground.

“Careful,” Jaehaerys warned the little boy and brushed his dark hair out of his face. “Kissing the dirt is not pleasant. I would know. Aegon threw me so often from my horse that I must have swallowed enough dirt to cover the entire Red Keep.”

“Aegon wants to talk to you,” Dunc babbled, as if the mention of Aegon had sparked a memory.

A curious expression took hold of her nephew’s face, but that was no surprise to her. Aegon and Jaehaerys’ hadn’t spoken to each other since his departure from King’s Landing two years ago.

Until this day, Aegon had refused to tell her what had caused his anger, but mayhaps now he was finally prepared to speak about it. She at least hoped that the two of them could make peace with each other before.

Still, her nephew smiled. 

“I shall be pleased to see Aegon again,” he declared and shifted his attention back to his mother. “And father and Rhaenys.”

“We get it,” Viserys interrupted suddenly, who had observed their exchange with obvious impatience. “You are pleased to see everyone, but I also have to make introductions and to face my King. To cut it short…,” he said, sucked in a deep breath and pointed at the young lady at his side. “This is my wife Marcella.”

The moment of stunned silence that followed reminded Dany of a graveyard. Dany froze, her good-sister exchanged a surprised look with her, Alysanne giggled and clapped her hands together as if she was already imaging the wedding in her head and Dunc looked confused.

“You got married,” was all her good-sister managed to say, her grey eyes taking in the smiling girl at her brother’s side.

“A pleasure to meet you, your Grace,” the girl greeted in the Common Tongue and dropped a perfect curtesy. Dany didn’t know why, but there was something about her brilliant smile that reminded her of Margaery Tyrell. “Viserys told me how beautiful it is here.”

Her good-sister’s mouth opened and close, but no sound came out of it. She looked lost, but Alysanne broke the silence with a pull on her Uncle’s cloak.

“Can’t you see what you did wrong, Uncle?” she asked him and crossed her arms in front of her like their Lady Mother had always done when Viserys said something particularly blunt. “You can’t just get married without us! This needs to be done properly. You need a Septon…a cake…a pretty dress. And most importantly you need to ask for father’s approval. He will be cross.”

“He won’t,” Jaehaerys defended his Uncle and graced his mother with an assuring smile. “And the marriage was something I arranged. I shall explain my actions, but now I wish to see father and the others. I assume they are waiting for me in the throne room?”

Lyanna’s smile died after her nephew had mentioned Rhaegar.

Carefully, she took his hand and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t be cross with him. You know why he has to do this. He has to play his mummery. It is doing what everyone expects of him.”

“I know,” Jaehaerys replied and his gaze darted to her. It had lasted only for a moment, but it meant everything to her. “But I am tired of doing what everyone expects.”

It had sounded more than just an angry statement. It had sounded like a promise and Dany braced herself inwardly for what was to come. 

 It was their good-sister who led them along the narrow corridor and the marble steps that led to the throne room. It was one of many entrances, but it didn’t help to ease the tension in her body. 

As had expected, the throne room was only sparsely filled, though this could have been intentional. Rhaegar disliked making a fuss.

That Rhaegar had donned his crystal crown and had seated himself in the uncomfortable chair of his forbearers was also unusual, but part of the mummery.

Beneath his feet, stood the Kingsguard, their white cloaks beautiful to be hold as were their gleaming sword belts.

Jaehaerys and Lyanna walked first and came to stand before the steps leading up the throne while Dany and her niece and nephew remained behind.

From here position, she was able to see Aegon, Myrcella and Rhaenys. Aegon looked uncomfortable and devoid of his usual smiles while Rhaenys looked worried as she regarded her brother. Only Myrcella seemed curious, her dark blue eyes following her nephew at every step, which was no surprise. She had never had the chance to get to know Jaehaerys before his departure to Essos and Aegon must have certainly spoken about him.

“My son,” her brother greeted her nephew more formally than usually. In private he would have called him by his given name. “Your arrival was a surprise to us, but you must be aware that your exile should have lasted at least another year.”

“Aye,” her nephew agreed without hesitation and dropped his head. Any other person would have knelt, but not her nephew. “I disobeyed your order, but I couldn’t wait anylonger to bring you the gift I have acquired…or should I say…I found something precious that has been lost for nearly a hundred years…something that once belonged to House Targaryen.

Dany’s heart thudded wildly and she tightened her grip on Alysanne’s hand as she watched how the expression on her brother’s face began to change.

“What could it be?” the King asked and leaned forward, his silver hair spilling over his shoulders. Suddenly, he looked more like a little boy than a King. “Will you show us, my son?”

“Of course,” her nephew confirmed and waved his hand at his companions who stood arranged at the right side of the hall. They had entered through one of the many sideways as was custom for the Kingsguard and the other courtiers. “Ned, would you be so kind?”

The young Dayne heir smiled and fluttered out of the room, only to return in company with Eric Storm. Together they carried a gilded box covered with a laughing face.

Quickly, Jaehaerys pulled a golden key from his vest and opened the box, before advising his men to step closer towards the throne. The Kingsguard parted and her brother had long begun to climb down the steps, his indigo filled with curiosity as he took in the content of said the box.

Barely a heartbeat had passed, before Rhaegar stopped in his tracks and froze. He sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled deeply.

“I am surprise he didn’t collapse,” she heard Viserys’ ever inappropriate remark, but Dany decided ignored him and decided to join her good-sister’s side. Alysanne and little Dunc were hesitant at first, but she followed after her like obedient little ducklings.

When she glimpsed into the wooden box she knew what Viserys had meant, for in that box lay something that her brother had been searching for his entire life.

Three precious dragon eggs.

In that moment, she wasn’t surprised to see tears glittering in her brother’s eyes nor was she surprised by Aegon’s and Rhaenys’ stunned looks.

Dany herself felt the urge to touch them, but she held herself back.

Instead she allowed her brother the King to speak for her.

“Where did you find them?” was all he asked his son, his voice laced with strange excitement. “And more importantly, how did you manage to acquire them?”

“I made a deal with the Sealord of Braavos,” her nephew replied bluntly. “He wanted Pentos and a marriage for his cousin.”

Then, he jerked his head at Viserys, who dipped his head in greeting, his pretty wife smiling next to him.

Her brother’s smile faltered, but it seemed Viserys’ marriage was enough to forget about his happiness.

“I heard that you partook in a campaign to re-take Pentos,” the King added and crossed the rest of the distance between him and his son. Dany knew he had missed him, but this was an official meeting. Open affection would be unseemly. “But I thought it was part of the negotiations for the loans.”

“That too,” her brother Viserys added. “But acquiring the eggs was part of the plan. It was quite the coincidence that we came upon the records and we decided to give you a surprise, your Grace. Surely, that is a reason to forget about the exile.”

“Aye,” the King said and smiled softly and placed his hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “You brought us a fine gift! And you shall have a reward for your efforts? Tell me, what is your heart’s desire?”

Her nephew exchanged a tense look with her, before giving his answer.

“There is only one thing I desire…my Aunt’s hand in marriage.”

…


	5. Love is the Death of Duty

Lyanna held her breath as she and the rest of the court waited for Rhaegar’s decision.

Rhaegar looked torn, so much she could see by the expression on his face; torn between duty and love for his son.

A refusal would most likely be approved by the majority of his allies, but it would also paint Rhaegar as a hypocrite in their son’s eyes.

Rhaegar himself had nearly caused a war when he had taken Lyanna as his second wife.

And while a marriage between her son Jaehaerys and her good-sister would not cause as much of a scandal as taking a second wife, it would still mean that Lord Edmure would be deprived of another promised bride.

Lyanna and Lord Connington had advised Rhaegar against a match between Rhaenys and Edmure Tully, claiming that the Tullys had already received enough privileges. Lord Tully’s two daughters were after all wed to two Lord Paramounts and her only daughter Alysanne was already betrothed to Elbert and Lysa Arryn’s son Denys, but Rhaegar had been insisted which led to the next dilemma when Rhaenys had spurned her betrothal. Her good-sister had stepped in, but seeing Daenerys’ hopeful expression it was clear to Lyanna that it must have been a half-hearted decision that made her accept the betrothal. She had probably tried to free herself from Rhaegar’s constant attempts to see her wed.

Lyanna’s heart ached now that she had realized, namely that her son and her good-sister had kept their affections hidden for all this time without telling her a single word.

 _Why did the they not tell me_ , she wondered and took in her son’s long face. He looked tense, his teeth clenched and his jaw as tight as a bowstring as he waited for his father’s and King’s decision. _They must have been afraid._

The court itself was utterly silent, especially Rhaegar’s council. There was Lord Jon Connington the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister the Maester of Coin, Ser Richard Lonmouth the Maester of Laws, Grand Maester Archibald, Lord Monford Velaryon the Maester of Ships and many other courtiers who occasionally occupied a seat at the small council or came to be heard during the daily petitions.

 at the King’s Small Council or came to be heard during the daily petitions.

“Your Grace,” her son dared to break the silence that had settled over the crowd. “I well aware what is whispered about me. I know of the names people give me and the scorn people hold for me for being born as a son from a second marriage. In Dorne many a man calls me a “bastard” or “the King’s cursed son”, but according to my estimation I have yet to do something that deserves such a vile name. Some think I desire my brother’s crown as all bastards do, but that couldn’t further from the truth. For if I had ever held such a hope in my heart I would have kept these eggs to myself, but here I am. All I ask in return is my Aunt’s hand in marriage…a small price compared to these precious eggs.”

The only thing that could be heard afterwards were the whispers of the courtiers and the breathing of the people standing close to her.

Yet it seemed that their son’s words had finally roused Rhaegar out of his stupor.

“A small price indeed,” Rhaegar agreed hesitatingly and came to stand before their son and good-sister. “Which is why agree to your request. You shall have the bride you desire.

Once more, the hall erupted in loud gasps and whispering, but Ser Oswell Whent was quick to silence them.

An expression of utter disbelief was apparent on his long face. It seemed he hadn’t expected that Rhaegar would agree to his request, but that was no surprise to her. Rhaegar loved all his children, but his position as King made it hard for him to spend as much time with them as his heart desired.

That he was the kind of man who kept his thoughts to himself didn’t make their life any easier. Even his own children and wife rarely knew what was going on his hid mind.

Lyanna loved him nevertheless for giving her the freedom she had always desired: to be allowed to train with the sword. And while she would never be as formidable as the men of the Kingsguard she was able to hold her own. Rhaegar had even gifted her a sword as a wedding gift.

“I thank you, your Grace,” was all that their son managed to say in return, his grip tight on Daenerys’ hand, though he let go a moment later to make his way back to the box in which the tree eggs were kept. “For granting my heart’s desire.”

Almost smiling, her son leaned down and picked one of the eggs from the box, making his way towards Aegon and Rhaenys.

The last time her son and Aegon had seen each other they had punched each other bloody, though according to Aegon’s own admission it had been him who had dealt his brother the first blow. This revelation had angered Lyanna only more and had strengthened her decision to remain at Dragonstone until Rhaegar would change his mind about the exile, though in truth she had somewhat reconciled with Rhaegar after he had assured her that their son was safe with his Uncle Viserys.

“I should have never raised a hand against you, dear brother,” their son declared with a ghost of a smile and offered the egg to him. This one was deep green and burnished with bronze flecks that glimmered like pure gold when the light of the scones fell upon its rough surface. “This is my gift of reconciliation. What do you say?”

Aegon’s face was unreadable as ever. As a child he had been bubbly, but ever since he had reached adulthood he had grown more serious and at times even sullen.

A moment of tense silence followed as Aegon’s purple eyes swept over the egg. He stood there and it took a good dozen of heartbeats before he finally touched the egg.

Suddenly, like the sun bursting through the sky, a smile crossed his lips.

“They feel warm,” she heard him whisper, an expression of utter disbelief washing over his face. He looked now more than ever like the cheerful little boy that had been her boy’s constant companion.  “How is that possible?”

“I do not know, brother,” her son replied and graced Aegon with the first real smile, before doing the same for Rhaenys. “One of the eggs is for you, sweet sister. You may choose one.”

Rhaenys’ dark eyes widened in surprise and her mouth opened in silence.

Eventually, Rhaenys climbed down the rest of the steps to take in the other two eggs. One was as black as the midnight sea and covered with scarlet ripples and swirls and the other one was pale like milkglass and streaked with gold.

“Touch them,” her son encouraged his elder sister. “And make your choice.”

Rhaenys hesitated for a moment and bit her lips as she regarded the two eggs, before finally placing her hand on the black egg.

A smile hushed over her painted lips as she smoothed her hand over the surface of the egg.

“It feels warm!” she exclaimed suddenly and pulled her hand away as if it was too hot to touch. “Gods, be good! This must be magic!”

Her son’s smile intensified only more when he noticed Alysanne’s curious look.

She barely reached to his shoulder and had to raise herself on her footsteps to get a glimpse in the box.

“Can I touch them too?” she asked curiously.

“Of course,” Rhaenys told her little sister and stepped aside.

Alysanne touched the white egg without hesitation and grinned from one ear to the other.

“It is warm and tickles!” her little girl described her experience. “I am sure it is going to hatch.”

“Its only a stone egg,” Aegon told her and shifted his attention to Jaehaerys. “But that makes it not less of a generous gift. Thank you, brother. I shall not forget it.”

“Well said, my son,” Rhaegar added and clapped as he graced their son with a seldom smile. “And with this gift we can hopefully leave the past behind us and look into a kinder future.”

The others followed the example of their King and clapped, but Lyanna couldn’t help but to notice the look of sadness on Rhaegar’s face.

_Something is wrong._

“You look happy,” Rhaegar remarked later that night after they had taken their leave from the children and court. They had all eaten together and it had proved to be a happy affair. It had been a blessing to have her _whole_ family together.

“I am happy when my son is happy,” Lyanna replied and watched the city below. Lyanna had grown up in the North where the days were short and the nights long. People rose at dawn and went to bed before sunset. Candles were rarely wasted and celebrations were reserved for weddings and feast days. King’s Landing and the South were much different. The days here were never-ending and the city below was always cast in a glow of light. Especially now, after word had recently reached her about her Lord Father’s death, she was missing the North more than ever. “But I would be even happier if I could walk through a real godswood.”

“We could visit Harrenhall,” Rhaegar offered after he had pulled his crown from his head and had placed it in the small wooden box where it belonged. Next followed the silken cloak, his polished boots and the doublet with the “bothersome collar” as Rhaegar liked to call it. Lyanna always had to laugh when he complained about such simple things. It made him sound like young man she had fallen in love with at Harrenhall. Not this somber and often grim King, but her sweet and kind Rhaegar, who had played songs for her and had wed her beneath a weirwood tree. “The Island of Faces should be beautiful this time of the year.”

Lyanna appreciated the idea, but it was not the same as the godswood in Winterfell. “A good idea. We should go there once we find the time.”

“You want to go to Winterfell,” Rhaegar remarked and pulled a fresh tunic over his head after he had pulled off his breeches. “To visit your father’s grave.”

“And my brother’s family. I haven’t seen them in sixteen years.”

“I know,” Rhaegar replied and wrapped his hands around her shoulders. Lyanna leaned into him, feeling his warmth. “Another promise I neglected.”

She heard him suck in a deep breath and  he placed a kiss on her cheeks.

“A promise I intend to fulfil now,” he added sweetly.

A gasp of surprise escaped Lyanna and she turned around, her gaze searching Rhaegar’s face.

“Does that mean we are going North?”

“That is indeed my intention,” he confirmed and chuckled.

“What will your council think of that?” Lyanna inquired in return.

“Jon will grumble, but he grumbles about everything,” Rhaegar jested and brushed a stray lock behind her ears. “Viserys is going to sit the Iron Throne in my stead.”

“Jon Connington is not going to like that,” Lyanna countered and touched his cheek. “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

“Viserys proved himself in Essos,” Rhaegar replied. “I know what the others think. He is my father’s son, but so am I and Daenerys. He has nothing of our father’s madness.”

“Of course not,” Lyanna replied. “But his marriage won’t bring him many friends. That you granted our son his heart’s desire will most likely lead to more discord.”

“Elia will keep her brother’s in check,” Rhaegar assured her and kissed her, before directing her to the bed. He looked pale and exhausted like so often these days. Grand Maester Archibald had remarked upon his frequent bouts of fever, but so far he had always recovered after he had finally taken the time to rest. “And the fact that Viserys married the girl to help my son shows me that he has finally left my father’s bad influence behind him. He is no longer the spoiled little boy I knew, but a man I can trust to do what is right. Mayhaps one day he will be Aegon’s Hand.”

“When do you plan to travel North?” Lyanna asked after she had pulled the bedding over her shoulders. “After our son’s wedding?”

“Before,” Rhaegar replied and lay back. He paused and exhaled deeply, before he turned to look at Lyanna. “The truth is…there is another reason I want to go North. I heard concerning reports about the Wildlings and I wish to consult my Grand-Uncle about these eggs. He knows more about these matters than any other living person.”

Lyanna didn’t like the sound of that. The burning of Summerhall was the first thought that came into her mind. Lyanna only knew the stories, but whenever someone had mentioned the incident in front of the Queen Mother she had grown angry and had scolded anyone who had dared to speak further about the matter.

Rhaegar himself had always held a great interest in prophecy as had his grandfather King Jaehaerys and his grand-grandfather Aegon.

Lyanna didn’t want to experience another Summerhall, but she also didn’t want to shatter Rhaegar’s dreams.

“Even more reason to go North,” she replied instead and curled up beside him, seeking his embrace. “I am sure my brother will be pleased to meet his niece and nephews.”

“And will most likely give me a cold welcome,” Rhaegar added dryly. “I can only hope that his children and Lady have less of a temper.”

…


	6. Brothers

Aegon woke to the sweet laughter of a little girl. As he turned around and swung his legs over the bed, he found Visenya seated on the rug spread over the floor.

She had her back turned to him and was dangling a piece of bright ribbon above her cat’s head. The animal, a massive grey tomcat, watched the ribbons’ movement. Left and right, the great yellow eyes moved, but was interrupted by Aegon’s appearance. Quickly, the cat rushed beneath the table, to hide away. For whatever reason, the animal had never been particularly taken with Aegon, though it had been him who had gifted the small kitten to his daughter.

“You scared Moonie,” Visneya complained, her face changing to a serious expression that was all Myrcella’s. “Now its going to take all day until he wants to play again.”

“Don’t fret,” Aegon replied and patted her mob of dark locks. “Moonie is going to play with you again once she gets hungry.”

“I hope so,” his little girl replied and pulled herself back on her two feet. She was a pretty girl, all dark haired, but a bit chubby for her age as her nursemaid liked to indulge her with cakes and cookie. Aegon couldn’t fault her. It was hard to deny Visenya wish. “I am bored. I want to go back to Summerhall.”

“Soon I will send you back to grandmother,” Aegon promised and went to dress. His squire Richard had laid out his clothing: a pair of black breeches, boots and a black cloak embellished with the three-headed dragon.

His little girl watched him, her blue eyes filled with confusion.

“Won’t you and Mama come with me?”

“No,” Aegon replied and fastened his cloak. Usually, he had servants to help him, but he didn’t want to bother them at such and late hour. “Mama and I are not going to accompany you. We are going to travel North, but Maggie is going to stay with you and grandmother will  be there to keep you company.”

“Where is North?” Visenya asked in return and pulled on his cloak, nearly opening the clasp he had closed only moments before. “Far away?”

“Quite far,” Aegon replied. It was hard to explain distances to a girl that counted barely three namedays. “Its very cold there and there is a lot of snow.”

“Snow,” Visenya repeated with a smile, spread her arms wide and stormed through the room to chamber unto his bed, bouncing up and down like a little squirrel. “Snow! I want to see Snow!”

“One day I will show you as much snow as you like,” Aegon promised and lifted her up into her arms and stepped out into the solar, where he found Myrcella and her ladies seated over their needlework.

Cerenna Lannister and Myrielle Lannister were both blond-haired and jade-eyed, though one was plump and the other was thin like a rot.

Myrcella acknowledged his presence with a brief nod and put her needlework away to receive her daughter, who quickly crawled into her lap.

“You must have been tired,” Myrcella remarked curtly, but there was coldness hidden behind her mask of indifference. It made her look like her mother, Lady Cersei Lannister, though she had the coloring of her father’s house, House Baratheon. “Rhaenys told me to let you sleep.”

“That was kind of her,” Aegon replied, not participating in her usual mind games. Myrcella had never hidden her dislike for Rhaenys and now that she carried his child she was beginning to show it more openly, though she knew very well that he had little choice in that matter. The Maester had made it quite clear that Myrcella would be most likely unable to give him another child. Besides, his son with Rhaenys would wed Visenya and then there would be no fighting over the throne. He had told Myrcella so much, but she was being stubborn as ever. “And even more kind of you to abide by her wishes.”

“I have also told the cook to prepare supper,” she informed him as she brushed her hand over Visenya’s disheveled hair, who was more fascinated with her mother’s stitching.  “Your brother announced his visit.”

Aegon nodded his head, though he had not expected such a visit. His reunion with his brother the day before had been limited to the supper he had taken in company of his father and the rest of his family, but he had yet to speak with him alone. Aegon didn’t know if he should be pleased by this or not. He had wanted to seek out his brother on his own pleasure, but it seemed Jaehaerys’ was always one step ahead of him.

It had always been like this, even when they were young children, especially when it came to swordplay, though in return Aegon had always bested him with the lance.

That had been many years ago, though and now they were both men grown and Aegon didn’t know how to speak to him. His actions towards his brother had been shameful, but then he had been a hot-headed boy who had allowed the woodswitch’s prophecy to poison his young mind.

_Beware, my Prince_. _The Black Dragon will take everything you hold dear_ , the old woman had told him after he and Ser Loras Tyrell had sought out the old woman that was commonly known as the Ghost of the High Heart. They had been stupid boys’ and had laughed about the woman’s prophecies. Especially, Loras had enjoyed himself greatly. _And how often do your prophecies come true, old wench_ , he had asked her, his voice laced with mockery. _Once or twice in a century?_

Aegon had laughed with him and so had young Dickon Tarly, Ser Loras’ friend. That was until the day the one of the old hag’s prophecies had come true. _Soon your laughter will turn to ash_ , my boy, the old hag had told Ser Loras. _For your brother will be felled by the Sun’s son._ Loras had mocked her for it until the day Aegon’s Uncle Oberyn had indeed felled Lord Willas’ Tyrell’s horse during a joust and had crippled the poor young man for life. Loras had shrugged this off as a mere coincidence, but Aegon had been raised differently. Ever since he had been a little boy, his father had instilled in him that there was more to the world that met the eyes; that there were dark things in this world that not even the many dusty books of the maesters could explain.

Shortly after his brother had earned himself the playful title the ‘Black Dragon’ during his first melee competition for squires for his preference for his dark clothing.  That even had caused Aegon to become even more wary or perhaps it had been a bout of jealousy as he had done rather poorly in during that particular tourney, though that had been his own fault. He had dared to ride against Loras Tyrell, an excellent jouster. It had been all this that had led to the fight with his brother and in effect to his exile.

At first, Aegon had been relieved, but now he thought otherwise. He shouldn’t have antagonized his brother. His mother was right that it would be better to make him an ally rather than an enemy. _Only that way I can avoid the old hag’s prophecy_ , he thought and realized to his shame that Myrcella was still waiting for his reply, her dark blue eyes alight with annoyance.

“Forgive me,” he apologized quickly and forced a smile over his lips. “My mind was elsewhere. And regarding my brother, I shall be pleased to have him as our guest. It has been long that we have spoken alone.”

Myrcella nodded her head in acknowledgement. “And I shall stay away this time. We will have enough time to get to know each other when we are traveling North.”

“Indeed,” Aegon replied. Mycrella had pretended to be pleased about this, but he knew that she held no trust in his brother nor any other family member of his. He had recognized that early into their marriage. Myrcella would always be a Lannister and a Baratheon and only second a Targaryen. Perhaps that had also been the reason Aegon had taken Rhaenys to his bed. “My brother and I have much to catch up on.”

…

Aegon was waiting for him at his favorite spot, the balcony overlooking the city below.

King’s Landing had a sharp smell, but with the sky painted in soft pink and a blanket of stars glittering on the horizon it looked almost pretty.

He was glad to be back, but his upcoming meeting with Aegon had made it hard for him to enjoy a proper night sleep. It had only been three, years but for Jaehaerys these two years in exile had felt like an eternity.

_I am finally back. That is all that counts_ , he thought and shifted his attention back to his brother, though he had yet to make up his mind how he wanted to approach the talk. He spent years anticipating their reunion, but now that he was back he didn’t know what to say.

He felt like a different person and his brother had also changed. He was less bubbly and carried himself with a serious demeanor, very similar to their father.

Exhaling deeply, he stepped closer and opened his mouth.

“Are you stargazing, brother?” Aegon asked, for the lack of a better question.

Aegon turned around, his hard face cast in soft moonlight. As a boy Jaehaerys’ had always been envious about his brother’s silver hair and purple eyes, but now he felt strangely at peace with his lack of Targaryen coloring.

Father had been pleased and had granted is heart’s desire; Dany’s hand in marriage, a goal he had been working towards for two whole years.

_It seems Dany’s god looks kindly upon us_ , he thought and force a smile over his lips as he met Aegon’s gaze.

“I am glad you came,” his brother replied in a strangely solemn tone, sighing deeply. “It has been two years…and I do not quite know what to say…,” he trailed off.

His brother looked lost and shrugged his shoulders. Then he smiled warily.

“You know me….I have always been a prideful person, but what I did was not right, especially because it caused you pain,” he added and searched Jaehaerys’ gaze.

Jaehaerys was stunned by Aegon’s apology. Hearing such words from his brother’s mouth was the last thing he had expected.

And yet he could not quite bring himself to completely forgive him.

Without their silly argument he wouldn’t have spent two years away from home.

_And you wouldn’t have found dragon eggs either_ , he realized. _Forget about your grudge. You came here to make peace with your brother._

“I hit you back,” Jaehaerys granted his brother.

A hint of a smile played on Aegon’s lips.

“Aye,” Aegon said and nodded his head in acknowledgement. “And I hit you too. I can see the scar on your brow. It must have been painful.”

“I had it worse,” Jaehaerys assured him, but his heart was still unwilling to forgive him. “And it was nothing compared to the pain of leaving.”

Aegon froze. “I never meant…,” he began, but stopped abruptly, clenching his right fist.

“I shouldn’t have chosen you to unleash my anger unto. That was wrong,” he added sadly and stepped closer, stretching out his hand.

“It was wrong,” Jaehaerys replied, his anger seeking purchase after two years of waiting, yet he also recalled that he came here to make peace. “But that is in the past. I know what your family thinks of me, but I have always been loyal to you and the egg is meant as a proof for this loyalty. I would never hurt you or any of our kin. You should know that.”

“I know that,” Aegon sighed and brushed his silver hair out of his face. “And I shall not forget.”

“Good,” Jaehaerys replied and felt suddenly much lighter. “It was good that we spoke alone, though I would have liked to meet your family.”

“The way to Winterfell is long,” Aegon jested, a smile returning to his lips. “Or so I heard. I have also heard the Northmen are stubborn fellows.”

Jaehaerys nodded his head. “My mother hails from the North, but I am as clueless as you, brother. I shall be pleased to meet my family.”

“It is a sad occasion though,” Aegon remarked. “And I heard your Uncle Lord Brandon Stark holds not much love for our father. Let’s hope your mother can calm his temper.”

Jaehaerys had no doubt about that. His mother was rarely afraid of something.

“I am sure she will,” he returned. “And I am also sure father is going to drag us to the Wall. He has been planning for years to introduce us to our Grand-Uncle, hasn’t he?”

Aegon nodded his head. “Not only that. He wants to install our Grand-Uncle as the new Grand Maester. Archibald does not suit his interests. You know why.”

Jaehaerys knew why. Their father had executed the former Grand Maester, though the reasons were only known to the King’s confidants, probably because he hadn’t wanted to make an enemy of the Lannisters. The old man had supposedly killed several of their Grandmother’s children due to his incompetence and perhaps because of Lord Tywin Lannister’s dislike for King Aerys, though it would have been nearly impossible to proof these accusations. Thus, his father had found him guilty on the charges of raping a servant girl, a vile act for a Maester of the Citadel who was sworn to abstinence and moral conduct.

His successor was even less to his father’s tastes. He was one of these measters who always wrinkled their noses when they heard tales of magic and dragons, though the old man had probably never travelled further than Oldtown.

“And how does father intend to accomplish that?” Jaehaerys inquired. “I thought the Night’s Watch is for life.

“That is so,” Aegon confirmed and crossed his arms in front of him. “But you know father. Once he puts something into his mind he is going to pursue it until the end. ‘For better or worse’ as my mother likes to say.”

“She is quite right about that,” Jaehaerys couldn’t help but to agree. He loved his father, but at times he liked practicality. “I suppose Dany’s betrothal to Lord Edmure was another one of father’s grand schemes?”

“No,” Aegon replied apologetically. “That was my fault. I convinced Rhaenys to forgo the betrothal as she was carrying my child and thus I forced father to offer another bride. I can only ask for your forgiveness.”

“Ask for Dany’s forgiveness,” Jaehaerys replied instead. “She was the one who suffered through your actions not, I. Well, not that it matters. Lord Tully will have to find himself another bride. Dany is mine.”

“The King’s word is law,” Aegon agreed hesitatingly and searched his face. “Though I am surprised that you chose her. She brings you no allegiance nor armies. You could have had Margaery Tyrell. In fact, father had hoped to arrange this match  for you, even against my family’s wishes.”

“You married Myrcella for political reasons,” Jaehaerys couldn’t help but to remark. “And Rhaenys for love, didn’t you?”

Aegon didn’t seem pleased with his remark. It seemed he hit a wound point. The marriage with Myrcella had been his father’s idea, but that didn’t mean Aegon was blameless. He could have refused, but he didn’t.

“She carries my child,” Aegon replied instead and averted his gaze. It meant that he had no intention to speak further about this matter. “What do you want me to do? Allow my son to grow up as a bastard?”

“No,” Jaehaerys replied. “But do you think that Lord Baratheon will be pleased to see his daughter humiliated in such a manner? He is a proud and hot-headed man. Lord Tywin won’t be pleased either, though I doubt he is going to do something foolish, at least not as long as his son serves in the Kingsguard.”

“Visenya will wed my son,” Aegon explained. “That will solve all conflict.”

“That is so,” Jaehaerys agreed and crossed his arms in front of him. “If Myrcella doesn’t bear you a son.”

Aegon averted his gaze again.

“That is so.”

Jaehaerys sighed.

“So; you are soon going to move to Dragonstone?”

“Once we return from our long travel to the North,” Aegon replied, distancing himself again. “That was after all my punishment. To be kept away from my inheritance until I am responsible enough to bear such a burden. That was what father told us, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Jaehaerys agreed. “And I shall take Summerhall if it doesn’t bother you? I don’t want my children to grow up in a stinking city like King’s Landing. Your mother is of course always welcome. I heard the weather there is good for her delicate health.”

Aegon’s softened when Jaehaerys’ had mentioned his mother, the Queen Elia. “It is and I am sure she will be pleased to see you again, brother.”

Jaehaerys wasn’t sure if that was true, but the Queen had always been cordial towards him. It was only right that he would extend the same politeness towards her, though the rest of her family might think he deserved a different kind of treatment.

“We shall visit her together when we return from the north,” Jaehaerys offered.

Aegon smiled.

“That would please me.”

 …

Dany had blew out the candles, stripped naked and slipped into the untouched bed. The cool breeze coming through the open windows made her shiver, but the bear pelt felt warm and comforting.

It had been a gift from her good-sister. She had missed its warmth and scent as she had not dared to enter her nephew’s chambers since his departure.

She felt anxious like a young maid, pulling the pelt tighter around her naked form to ward of the chill.

As she continued to listen to the howling wind outside she found herself slowly drifting asleep…

She was already half asleep when she heard the movement of footsteps on the ground.

She forced her eyes open and smiled when she noticed his presence.

His pale face looked even longer in the moon-lit chamber, but it was softened by his long brown hair.

“Your hair needs cutting,” she remarked for the lack of a better word, her heart beating vigorously. “I like it, but that is what your mother said.”

“Mother likes to vex me about it,” he replied, sounding half-amused, but also a little bit annoyed. “She said I look like a girl.”

He had dropped his cloak and his boots, the buttons of his tunic slightly opened.

“You do look like a girl,” Dany jested and climbed out of the bed, discarding the pelt in the same breath. “So does Rhaegar.”

“Don’t tell him,” he chuckled and bridged the distance until he stood only an armlength away from her, his warm breath tickling her cheek. “He is our King.”

“At times he is still my stupid brother,” she reminded him. “And I told him that numerous times, though always behind closed doors. He didn’t deny it.”

Jaehaerys smiled. This time it was a true smile and she was surprised that he didn’t back away when she started to open the rest of the buttons.

On the contrary, he stood still as a soldier until she had shrugged off his tunic altogether, revealing his naked form. She couldn’t help but to gasp when she noticed the scar on his shoulder.

This one was new. A result from his exile.

“Did it hurt?” she asked and stretched out her hand to touch the wound, but Jaehaerys stopped her, enclosing her hand with his own.

“An arrow,” was all he answered and placed a kiss on her lips. It was a soft kiss, almost hesitant, like a child brushing the petals of a fragile flower.

Suddenly, everything felt so easy.

She shed the last sense of decency left in her and clutched his face between her hands, deepening the kiss.

Soon, he forgot about his gentleness and was nibbling on her lips, before parting them.

“I thought you might have forgotten me,” he whispered then, wet tears touching her cheeks.

She stopped abruptly, staring at him frozen in time.

She felt suddenly cold, guilt clenching around her heart.

“Why would you think that?” she asked and brushed her hand against his cheek. “You know why I had to stay. Mother…,” she trailed off, the words to painful to leave her lips.

“I should have been there,” he choked then and pulled her closer, just holding her. “But I was a fool too. I should have stayed.”

“And I shouldn’t have agreed to the match,” she replied hesitatingly and trembled again, but this time not from the cold. His hand had brushed over her hip. “But feared they might get suspicious. I made Rhaegar promise that they wouldn’t force me. It was only meant to bridge the time.”

She felt his cock as he leaned closer to kiss her neck, then brushed his lips against her ear only to move back to her lips a heartbeat later.

He said nothing before he kissed her again and again, his lips oh so sweet. He only broke free to gasp for breath, kissing her stomach and then between her legs.

She had missed this the most, the gentle touch of his tongue and his fingers. She bit into her hand to stifle her whimpers, but she felt even more frustrated when he stopped.

“You are cruel,” she chided him and kissed his stomach pulling down his breeches and smallclothes at once. She didn’t hesitate to taste him, making him curse and nearly stumble, but stopped right in the middle of it.

She smiled victorious when she heard his growl of displeasure.

“You are also quite cruel,” he jested and stumbled back towards the bed after she had given him a playful push.

She laughed and hopped into his embrace, her hand touching his cock ever gently. He gave a small gasp, his mouth falling open.

Then, she sank down on him, enjoying the feel of him. It had been too long.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment while his hands were brushing over her hips.

She moved her hips slowly and listened to his labored breathing.

She hadn’t been able to protest before he had flipped her around, entering her again with a swift stroke.

She sighed deeply and wrapped her legs around his back, allowing the waves of pleasure to take her until she felt his hand touching his cheek.

“Look at me,” he whispered and drove deeper, then harder.

She did as he had asked of her, forcing her eyes open.

He kissed her, silencing her gaps she the heat became too much.

He was breathing hard against her cheek when she came back to herself, his cock still sheathed inside her.

Once, he had regained his composure he rolled to the side and smiled at her again, his brown hair in complete disarray.

 “I heard we are travelling North,” Dany remarked. “You are finally going to meet your Uncle, though the occasion is a sad one.”

“My Uncle will not be pleased to see me…,” Jaehaerys replied hesitatingly, but Dany touched his cheek to silence him.

“Your Uncle doesn’t know you.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he agreed at last and kissed her hand. “At least I hope so.”

“Aye,” she added excitedly. “Mayhaps we find more dragon eggs. Remember the stories? I would like to have one for my own.”

Jaehaerys nodded his head, a placid smile curling on his lips.

“Maybe I will be lucky again.”

…


	7. The Wild Wolf

Catelyn watched as the girls of Winterfell enjoyed their embroidery lessons. There was Beth Cassel, Jeyne Poole,  Ned’s daughter Arya and of course her only daughter Sansa.

She was a pretty girl with auburn hair and bright blue eyes of summer.

_Our daughter dreams too much_ , Brandon had remarked more than once.

He was a blunt man and held little love for Sansa’s songs, though he was not above spoiling their daughter.

He always purchased her the prettiest dresses, praised her abilities with the high harp and wore her embroidered cloaks with pride.

Yet, that hadn’t changed Brandon’s dislike for the south, which often led to disagreements between her Lord Husband and her Lord Father.

Her Lord Father had wanted Sansa to wed a southron Lord and had already suggested numerous matches, among them Lord Mallister’s heir and even her brother Edmure.

_My daughter will not marry a pampered southron Lord_ , Brandon had scoffed at the suggestion. _I have already someone in mind. Lord Bolton’s heir Domeric is a good boy and served as a squire for Lord Redfort. That should be ‘southron’ enough for you taste, my Lord._

As always, Catelyn had kept her opinion to herself, though she disliked the idea of seeing her daughter wed to a Bolton. The grizzly tales she had heard about the Boltons made her shudder, though the boy had made a courteous impression when he had visited Winterfell, scarcely a year ago.

“What’s that, Arya?” Beth Cassle asked with obvious amusement and pointed at the girl’s work spread over her lap.

Arya Stark had a long face that was framed by plain brown hair. When Cat had heard that Ned was going to send his girl here she had been fearful as she held little love for Lady Ashara Dayne, the woman Brandon had supposedly been infatuated with during the tourney of Harrenhall…

The reason was a simple one. Lady Ashara Dayne was said to be a great beauty and she had expected the girl to be the same.

She knew she should  be ashamed of herself to think like that, but she had been relieved when the girl turned out to have plain looks, though she was rather fierce in character and showed little interest in ladylike activities. Instead the wild girl preferred riding her horse through the Wolfswood.

“It’s a wolf,” the girl replied with a frown. “Are you blind or just stupid?”

“That’s no wolf,” Beth Cassle insisted. “That doesn’t even look anything like an animal I know.”

Jeyne Poole, who had been looking over Beth’s shoulder was covering her mouth with her hands to stifle her laughter. Sansa, who loomed next to her, was trying to appear gracious.

Cat felt it in her bones that a fight was inevitable.

“That really looks rather strange, Lady Arya,” Septa Mordane added almost politely as she regarded the girl’s work. “I think you should try once more.”

“I think rather not,” Arya declared, pulled up her skirt, before storming out of the room, the snickering of the girls following after her.

As she went she nearly collided with Cat, who had barely managed to move out of the way in time.

She didn’t blame the girl. It was not her fault that she had been raised in Dorne, where girls were allowed to carry spears and give away their maidenheads to whom they pleased. It would be silly to expect more of the girl.

“Forgive me,” the girl explained, before storming down the corridor, probably to join the boys in the practice yard.

“That was not very kind of you,” Cat chided the girls. “I expect of you to apologize to Lady Arya. She is our guest.”

The girls’ smiles disappeared in the matter of a heartbeat.

Especially, Sansa’s cheeks were deeply flushed.

“Of course, Lady Mother.”

Satisfied with her answer she moved on to find her unruly sons, who were by now probably in need of a proper supper and bath.

She had barely made a step unto the balcony when she heard their laughter echoing over the practice yard.

Robb, her oldest was graced with the Tully coloring and was now nearly as tall as Cley Cerwyn, Lord Cerwyn’s heir.

As always, they were exchanging heated blows under the watchful gaze of Ser Roderik Cassle. Up and down, left and right the blades met as her youngest son Brandon was watching them.  He was ten and was the only one of Cat’s children that had inherited the Stark looks: a long solemn face and slightly curled brown hair that resembled her own locks. He had also inherited his father’s temper fearlessness. This fearlessness had given Cat more sleepless nights than she could count.

When the older boys were done with their training, Brandon was allowed to try. He was grinning from one ear to the other as he was attacking his brother, who quickly parried each of his brother’s blow as if was mere child’s play…

Yet, that didn’t dim Bran’s enthusiasm. He tried again and again, until Robb appeared exhausted enough to put an end to their practice.

“Enough, brother,” he declared and brushed the sweat from his brow. “I have had enough. One more time and my arm will fall off. I doubt the King would be impressed with a one-handed heir of Winterfell.”

“The King has the Kingsguard,” Arya Stark teased, who had suddenly appeared at the courtyard. “He wouldn’t be impressed with green boys like you.”

Bran’s face lightened up immediately.

“Do you think the King is going to bring your Uncle?”

“Of course,” Arya confirmed proudly. “The King never goes anywhere without my Uncle. He is the best swordsman in all of Westeros! No, the whole world!”

“Now you are bragging, cousin!” Robb scoffed and stuck his practice blade into the moody ground. “Everyone knows that Prince Aemon Targaryen was the best swords man that has ever lived!”

“Aemon Targaryen died,” Arya Stark countered. “And my Uncle is still alive. That should count for something.”

“Who cares!” Bran added cheerfully and pulled on Arya’s cloak. “I want to see the whole Kingsguard. “Do you think one of them might take me on as a squire?”

“Not sure,” Arya replied and frowned. “You will have to ask them.”

“Aye!” Brandon exclaimed happily. “That I will do! Just wait and see!”

“Good to hear,” Ser Roderik added with obvious amusement. “But I think we trained enough for today. Your Lady Mother is waiting for you, my young Lords.”

Cat couldn’t help but to smile as she crossed the courtyard to join them.

“Ser Roderik speaks true,” she said and clapped her hands together. “I think it is time for you to get a wash. Supper should be ready in good time.”

The boys laughed approvingly and sprinted inside to get washed, Ser Roderik’s face changing to a scowl when it fell on the discarded weapons.

“Forgive them and tell the stable boys to put them away,” Cat told the elderly man with a smile and shifted her attention to Lady Arya.

She looked unsure what to do, her fingers fisting her mud-stained dress of blue cloth.

“You should join the other girls. The embroidery lessons are over. After supper we are going to have lemon cakes and Lady Jeyne and Sansa are planning to play on the high harp. You are fond of music, are you not?”

 “I do,” the girl replied with a seldom smile. “And I shall head your advice, my Lady.”

Then, she was gone as well, leaving Cat at a loss of words.

She was trying her best to get along with her ward, but that was harder than expected. It was quite obvious that the girl felt uncomfortable in her new home.

Sighing deeply, she returned to the keep where the boys were already seated at the high table. The girls were giggling like a flock of hens while the kitchen maids were decking the long trestle tables.

The evening passed quickly and was satisfied to listen to the children’s excited blabbering. Robb and Bran spoke about their time in the practice yard and Sansa told her how she finally finished her newest cloak. Only Arya remained silent and continued to shovel broth into her mouth.

That Brandon hadn’t returned until now was the only damper. He had told her that he was visiting Lord Cerwyn, but she knew where he had really gone. 

_To one of his many whores_ , she knew, though she had long learned to ignore that fact. Brandon was not the worst kind of husband. He treated her and the children well and throughout their long marriage he had only fathered one bastard on Lady Barbrey Ryswell, a boy named Cregan Snow..

Cat feared that boy, for Brandon was fond of his son and often visited him when he found the time to do so.

That the King had announced his visit had only worsened Brandon’s stormy mood, though she was sure he was happy to finally see his sister, Lady Lyanna Stark.

Cat herself had yet to meet her, but she decided to keep her judgments to herself until she has met King Rhaegar’s second wife and Queen.

_She is Brandon’s sister_ , she always reminded herself and watched as the children were fighting over the last piece of lemon cake.

Sansa’s nameday had been a moon ago, but the shipment of lemons had arrived only yesterday. Old Nan had toiled all day to serve Sansa he favorite dish.

Seeing her girl’s smile made Cat realized that she was now almost a woman grown. Soon she would be wed and that thought scared Cat more than anything.

_Mayhaps the gods will give us another babe_ , she hoped with all her heart.

Not that Brandon shied away from his duties. He was always eager to join her bed and she also knew that he found her beautiful, but for a man like him one woman was never enough.

“Mother, I do you think father will come?” Sansa asked sadly. She had hoped to play for him tonight.

“He must have good reasons for staying away so long,” Catelyn explained and brushed her hand over her braided hair. “But you can still play for us. What do you think?”

“A good idea,” her little girl replied obediently and was soon playing up the first song.

What followed were her favorite songs. It was lovely to behold, but Cat was forced to ruin their good mood when it was time for bed.

 soon had to ruin their mood as it was time for bed.

Complaints were voiced, but an hour later the children were all put to bed and Cat could finally return to her chambers to ease the tension in her bones with a hot bath.

It was still early in the morning when her maid roused her from her sleep.

“The Lord has returned, my Lady!” she informed.

Cat dressed quickly and found Brandon riding unto the mud-speckled courtyard.

Brandon’s face was deeply flushed from the cold as he climbed from his saddle and shifted his attention to Ser Roderik.

He grinned when he noticed Cat’s presence.

“Cat!” he exclaimed and pressed a frozen kiss on her brow, before he waved his hand at his companions. “Forgive my delay! I have made the most interesting discovery!”

There was Torrhen Karstark, the Smalljon Umber, Jory, Galbert Glover, Lord Cerwyn, and several other familiar faces that often frequented her husband’s solar. They also liked to share his ale and going by the smell they had enjoyed themselves greatly.

Cat greeted them with a welcoming smile and noticed that Jory and the Smalljon were carrying something.

It were furred animals. Dogs, no…wolves.

“Gods be good!” Cat exclaimed in shock. “What is that?”

“Direwolves!” Brandon exclaimed cheerfully. “Five of them. Can you believe it, Cat?”

“I can see them,” was all that Cat could reply. “And what are you intending to do with them? Put them into the kennels?”

“Of course!” Brandon replied as if it was not even a question. “The children will piss themselves with happiness.”

Cat had no doubt about that, but Brandon seemed even more excited about the pups.

“A fitting nameday gift,” she agreed with amusement.

…

Brandon admired the colorful ripples of the Valyrian steel blade placed on his thighs.

Ice had belonged to his father for thirty long years and now it was his to wield.

As a young boy he had wanted nothing more than to leave his inheritance behind him, but now the time had come to grow up and to be what he was always meant to be

The Lord of Winterfell.

Still, it had felt strange to deliver justice without his father’s presence.

It felt even stranger to clean the blade. He had watched his father do it numerous times, but now it was him who had to do it.

Carefully, he brushed the cloth over the dark surface to wash away the blood.

His father had always spoken a prayer for the men he had killed, but Brandon was not like him.

He was neither pious nor did he hold much pity for an oathbreakers.

There was nothing worse than a coward who abandoned his post.

_At least one good thing came of it_ , he thought and smiled. _Five direwolves. It seems we need to make two more children, Cat._

Cat had laughed at that and he hadn’t left her bed until late into the evening while the children had barely been able to keep away from the pups.

Fresh snowflakes were melting on his skin and caused him to lift his head. Above him spread the crimson canopy of the weirwood tree.

Cat’s red hair made her blend with the leaves, but her smile was even brighter.

“The children certainly enjoy your gift,” she said and came to stand before him, her arms crossed in front of her. “Still, do you really think it is wise to keep them in the castle? How big will these direwolves grow?”

Brandon couldn’t help but to chuckle at his ever-worried wife.

“The direwolf is the sigil of my house. It is a sign of the gods. We must keep them or the gods will be insulted.”

Smiling blazingly, he rose to his feet.

“Do you want to insult the gods, dear Cat?”

Cat blushed.

“Of course not,” she replied with a sigh and showed him the letter with the broken seal of a three-headed dragon. “It seems the King has crossed the Trident. We should start preparing.”

“Makes me wish for him to drown in the bloody Trident,” Brandon couldn’t help but to grumble. He had always hated the arrogant twat that had turned his sister into a whore. “And makes me wish I could find a reason to keep him away.”

“Ned’s coming too,” Cat added softly, obviously trying to calm him. “Benjen is going to greet them at Moat Cailin.  Do you intent to join him?”

“Certainly not,” Brandon scoffed and slid Ice back into its sheath. “But I suppose you are right. We ought to greet the King with all the honors he deserves.”

“And your sister,” Cat added. “She is coming too. Do you think the King will bring his first wife as well? I need to know…for the preparations.”

Brandon frowned after he had read over the letter.

“The letter doesn’t say,” Brandon replied and shrugged his shoulders. “We should be better safe than sorry, Cat. Well, I shall also write to the Lord Commander. It seems our King wants to inspect the Wall.”

Cat gave him a surprised look.

“What does he want at the Wall?”

Brandon shrugged his shoulders again.

“Mayhaps he wants to feign interest. The Watch is in a bad state and that is well known even in the south. They have barely more than a thousand man. I wouldn’t mind if the King decided to add a few hundred men.”

“That would certainly please your lords,” Cat added thoughtfully. “Ser Jorah reported another Wildling raid on his lands. One of his nieces was supposedly taken at sword point, but managed to kill her abductors.”

Brandon nodded his head in understanding and touched her arm.

“One of these days I am going to deal with this King-Beyond-the-Wall,” he promised. He felt the urge to take her again, right there in the godswood, but Cat was not reckless for such joyous endeavors “Wait and see.”

“I believe you,” Cat replied almost softly. “But I do not like to see ride off to war. The lands beyond the Wall are well known to them, but not you.”

“Then I shall learn them as well as your bosom, my Lady!” he declared enthusiastically and kissed her. “And no more talk of these Wildlings and the King. It is bad enough that I will have to look at his pretty face all day long. Lord Bolton even suggested to poison him.”

Cat backed away and gave him a horrified look.

“That was a jest, dear Cat!” he assured her quickly and twirled one of her red locks between his fingers. “Only a jest.”

Cat smiled and leaned into his embrace.

“Sometimes I do not know when you are jesting and when you are being serious, husband.”

Brandon gave her an apologetic look.

He knew that he was not the best kind of husband, but he was trying his best to keep her happy.

That was part of the vows he had given her, though his heart had always longed for another, a Lady that was now wed to his brother.

_You lied to me_ , she had told him during their last meeting. _You lied to me and used me. I do not wish to speak to you ever again._

Thinking of Ashara made him also think of the past and how he had nearly died for his sister’s folly.

For weeks he had been imprisoned in the Black Cells, bereft of food and light.

After nearly a moon he had been freed from his imprisonment, by no other than Queen Rhaella.

The Queen had come to him with a face as pale as ash, her pink dress covered with King Aerys’ lifeblood.

At her side had been the fragile Dornish Princess and Lady Ashara Dayne, who was by then heavy with child. The babe, a girl, had perished not long after and Brandon had been called to do his duty…

“Am I to die, your Grace?” he had asked the Queen brazenly. “What of my companions?”

“You are to be freed,” the Queen promised and graced him with a trembling smile. She had been a delicate woman, but she had accomplished what her foolish son had failed to do. She had put an end to the Mad Dragon, though many had cursed her for it afterwards. “And your companions as well. That is if you are prepared to keep the peace and bend the knee to my son, your new King.”

The Kingslayer had been at her side in that moment, his golden hair falling around his pale face like a shroud. He had looked like a boy, tears glittering in his eyes as Brandon had laughed the Queen in the face.

“Your rapist son can kiss my Northern arse! I rather die than to lick such a man’s boots!”

The Queen’s mask had remained intact even as he had hurled these insults at her.

“My son didn’t rape your sister,” she had explained almost softly. “She was a willing participant in this ploy. She is wed to him and carries his child. There is no reason for further bloodshed. Your father has already accepted the King’s peace and gave his blessing.”

Brandon had never felt more ashamed of his own blood.

His sister had proven a whore and his father had sold her to the highest bidder. Brandon was sure he would have never accepted a marriage if the King hadn’t offered him a good price for her.

His father had been such a man. Pragmatic down to the marrow of his bones and a greedy old bastard at his worst.

“What say you now?” Queen Rhaella had asked him again.

Brandon had only felt rage.

“You can tell your son and King that he can still kiss my ass!”

And even after this Brandon hadn’t died, though his Lord Father had been cold with him for years afterwards.

Brandon had been surprised how much his father’s sudden death had grieved him and even now he was missing the greedy old bastard.

…


End file.
